


it's a long way home (between science and faith)

by manamanaly (thesecretmichan)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Character Development, Deaf Clint Barton, Excessive sass, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Getting Together, Iron Man 3 Compliant, M/M, Non-binary character, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Plot with Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Teambuilding, Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretmichan/pseuds/manamanaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first panic attack in six months is in his office in L.A., watching the world fall apart around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so we've discovered one never truly leaves the marvel fandom 8} I have to admit I really really missed writing this stuff, and I wanted to read more Cap 2 compliant stuff, so I decided to write my own lmao. It's... gonna be a long one. I've got about 16k written so far and I haven't even finished the first plot arc, so that should give you a little hint of what's to come 8}}} god, I love me some slow burn fic.
> 
> I wanna give a huge thanks to my darling gingerpunches. She's the reason this fic is half of what it is - she battered out all the stuff that didn't make sense, got me to tweak scenes to fit more emotion in, listened to me whine at all hours of the night, etc etc (All remaining mistakes are mine, of course). I just wanna wrap her up and give her smooches.
> 
> OKAY WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, here's _it's a long way home (between science and faith)_

His first panic attack in six months is in his office in L.A., watching the world fall apart around him. His hands are white-knuckled on the desk in front of him, a fine tremor creeping up his arms and slipping into his chest. The screens along the opposite wall, headlines screaming _Breaking News_ , show SHIELD's helicarriers (Fury's goddamn _babies_ ) crashing and burning into the river, bodies falling at a sickening pace, metal and glass glinting in the sunlight. Small, scrolling lines of text ( _S.H.I.E.L.D. in shambles -- Captain America: a terrorist?_ ) flit across the bottom right corner of the footage, grainy clips of a shield and a broken bus on a battlefield. And really, that's all Tony needs to see before he's crumpled half under his desk, his breath coming short and quick, vision blackening at the edges. He presses a hand to his chest, fingers slipping over the smooth surface of his sternum, and even after all this time can't stop the pervasive feelings of _wrong wrong wrong he's falling in the black and his reactor's not working this is it this is how the great Tony Stark dies-_

His last semi-coherent thought is Tony hissing to himself over and over again that he should've built another goddamn suit, Pepper and his promise be _damned_.

It could've been minutes, it could've been hours, but eventually Tony takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out slowly. He's still shaking, practically dripping with his own sweat, but his lungs gradually return to their normal capacity, his heart rate to a more natural rhythm. He's still hiding under his desk like some sort of scared to shit little toddler, but he can see the floor beneath him at least, feel the soft plush of the carpet underneath his fingertips.

It takes another few minutes, but eventually he realizes the trembling in his chest is not nerves, but his phone set to vibrate. Without even a glance at the number, he flicks his thumb across the screen and says, "Tony Stark," and _damn it_ he should not be answering the phone sounding like he's just run a goddamn _marathon_.

"Oh thank fuck," a low voice replies and it pings immediately in Tony's brain, even though it's been two years since he heard it last. "Thank fuck," the voice says again.

"Barton," he says easily, the name slipping off his tongue like they'd just had lunch the other day.

"SHIELD's compromised," Barton says then, and Tony snorts, mutters, " _No kidding_." He strains to listen for any type of background noises, any cues where Barton might be hiding out, how he managed to stay off Tony's radar for _two fucking years_ , but before Tony can pick apart any one sound, Barton continues with a curt, "My cover's compromised - you're the only one I could reach." There's a sore, angry sort of quiet on the line for half a breath, and then he says, "I need an extraction." Another pause, and then: " _Please_."

"Shit," Tony breathes, and he's already up, peeling off his clammy suit jacket, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "Send me your coordinates," Tony says with a note of finality. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Barton breathes out, slow and barely noticeable. "Thanks, Stark," he whispers, and the line goes dead. Half a second later, his phone chimes with an incoming message.

Tony's already calling Pepper, yanking his tie over his head, striding to the elevator with purpose. "Pepper, I need to leave the country."

Pepper, the wonder that she is, doesn't even need a beat to collect herself. "Which lawyer do you want me to call?" she asks, and he can picture perfectly the furrow in her brow, the tightening of her mouth that's reserved all for disasters marked 'Stark'.

"No lawyers, I'm not in trouble," Tony says quickly, though he's not quite sure how much of a comfort it is. He exits the elevator in a jog and practically jumps into the first car he sees (granted, most of them are his, but). "You saw the news, right?"

He hears Pepper's sharp inhale and switches his phone to hands free mode so he can tap out an emergency order to fuel up his fastest HeliStark, _on the double_. He clamps down the bitter thought that if he had his suit he'd already be _halfway there by now_. "Everyone's seen the news, Tony," Pepper finally whispers. "Is it-?"

"It's Barton," Tony confirms. "All those yummy SHIELD secrets just spilled out for everyone to see and he's in a stew pot of shit. I gotta go pick him up."

Pepper exhales, albeit shakily, and he almost hears her nod to herself to regain her composure. "Be safe," she says, no _commands_.

"You know how trouble likes to follow me around," Tony says lightly, and it's enough of a joke that it startles a laugh out of Pepper, the sound like twinkling bells in his ear. He smiles softly and takes a screeching turn, sideswiping one of his employees; Tony bites back a wince. He'll send them a fruit basket. "I'll talk to you later, Pep," he promises.

"Keep me posted," she tells him before hanging up.

He makes it to his airstrip in nearly record time, and his helicopter is fast, but not as fast as his _goddamn suit_ , so Tony sits. Waits. Hopes he can reach Barton before whoever the fuck is after him catches the kid and does what all bad guys do to the super spies who infiltrate their ranks.

Tony takes a deep breath.

***

Barton's coordinates end up taking Tony northeast, about fifty kilometers past the Canadian border. There's nothing officially on the map (just government-protected wildlife), but sensors pick up a massive underground facility, stretching down at least thirty levels. When Tony switches the feed to external cameras, there's a thick column of black smoke billowing out from a tiny building in the center of a clearing. His phone's out, ready to dial back, but Clint beats him to it, laughing breathlessly into the receiver, "Please tell me that's your bird I see coming in and not the goon squad reinforcements."

Tony smirks before he can help himself. "What, that's the welcome I get?"

" _Thanks, honey_ ," Clint snarks in his ear. "Now how about getting me out of here while I still have all my vital organs intact? How fast can that thing do a vertical takeoff?"

Tony snorts, yanks the bird hard to the right, and lets it coast down effortlessly to the grass. "Please, Barton, remember who you're talking to. Now are you going to get your ass in my helicopter or sit there bitching at me all day?"

"Gimme a minute," Barton says then and hangs up the call; about a millisecond later, an explosion rocks his bird on its skids and Tony yells, " _Jesus Barton_ ," pulling up a row of screens and diagnostics to check for structural damage.

"JARVIS?" Tony prompts, toeing a button on the floor with his boot. A slot opens below and to the right, and he reaches down to grab a miniaturized repulsor glove from a hidden compartment. It's only worth a few shots, but it's better than nothing, and Tony's IQ is way too high to think he doesn't need some kind of defensive weapon at the ready in case things get ugly. He slips it on his hand, testing the finger and wrist joints. Scans show no one in his immediate vicinity, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's alone out here.

"All structures currently operating within acceptable limits, sir," JARVIS replies. "The shell has taken a small amount of surface damage caused by flying debris, but nothing that suggests any interior damage."

"Thanks, buddy," Tony whispers, flipping another switch to open up the passenger door. He reaches down, grabs a taser from the floor compartment as well, just to be on the safe side. "Keep an eye out for hostiles, JARVIS."

"Naturally, sir."

It's the longest wait of Tony's life, despite the fact that the clock clearly says only ten minutes have passed, the joints in his right hand a stiff ache behind the glove. Cameras circle left, right, and rear, but no one comes near the helicopter, no bullets ping the metallic surface, no missiles shoot from the ground and blow him to bits. He's beginning to wonder if maybe this is all some elaborate ruse to get Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist out in the middle of goddamn nowhere with nothing but a bunch of half-assed weapons and the wrinkled remnants of one of Dolce & Gabbana's latest creations.

Or maybe he's dreaming. Maybe he hit his head on the desk when the panic attack hit and he's halfway to a hospital pumped full of the good stuff and this is all one hilarious, drug-induced hallucination. Though Tony's moderately sure if he was tripping out of his mind, his brain would at least be thoughtful enough to insert the Mark VIII for his dreaming pleasure.

"Pull it together, Tony," he snaps to himself then, and flexes his fingers in one slow, agonizing creak.

Tony never actually sees anyone exit the smoking base, but Clint skids up and into the hold a few minutes later, the stench of smoke and gunfire clinging to his ass. JARVIS, bless him, slides the door shut and lifts them into the air almost immediately. Clint flops bonelessly to the floor and laughs, his voice just on the right side of delirium, and groans, "Oh my _god_ , remind me never to do that again."

"What, you don't normally blow up buildings in your spare time?" Tony cracks, grabbing a briefcase of medical supplies from the wall. He takes off the repulsor glove and sticks it in his back pocket so he has both hands free. "Because I hate to break it to you, but that happened last time we hung out, too."

"I wasn't _supposed_ to blow it up!" Clint moans, and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, half-smile, half-grimace. "It was supposed to be recon," he mutters then, a little petulantly.

"Never stopped you before," Tony quips, falling into a crouch beside Barton.

Clint's sudden laugh is hidden behind JARVIS' " _Destination, sir_?", and Tony immediately says, "New York - put in a call to Bruce, too, while you're at it."

"Bruce?" Clint asks, just barely lifting his head from the floor. His breath is coming a little quick, but it looks more from adrenaline than injury, and Tony's kit is not so extensive he thinks he could tape up broken ribs even if it were the case. There's a long, but superficial gash above his eyebrow that's matted his hair to his forehead. His right arm is slick with blood, as well, but that looks the be the worst of it, even as Tony mentally catalogues the various scrapes, burns, and broken glass-coated scratches littering the little spy's body.

"Banner," Tony clarifies, and gingerly tugs on Barton to sit up. "Come on, dude, you're bleeding all over my floor."

"Tony?" Bruce's voice filters through the cargo hold, and it makes Tony smile despite himself.

"Hey, Brucie-bee," he says warmly. "You're still at Avengers Tower, right?" Tony ignores Clint's look of surprise in favor of spraying an antiseptic on the other man's arm. Clint makes a half-aborted noise in the back of his throat, his lips twisting at the sting. When the blood clears and Tony can see the thick gash on Barton's upper arm, he hisses, "Damn, that looks fun."

"I am - my flight's not scheduled to leave until tomorrow," Bruce slowly says. "Why? What's going on, Tony?"

Tony lets out a little laugh. "Might wanna take a raincheck on your trip, Bruce. Have you checked the news any time in the past six hours?"

There's a pause, and then a low whispered curse. " _Shit_ ," Bruce hisses. "Let me just-" There's a few clinks of glass against glass, the sound of machinery switching off, and Bruce comes back with a, "You're not involved with any of this, are you? Do I need to come down to D.C.?"

"Man, I _wish_ I was involved with this. Nobody ever invites me to the fun parties anymore," Tony says with another laugh, if only to disguise the slight tremor in his hands as he sprays another solution (anticoagulant) on Barton's arm. "No, it's a good thing you're still there - I gotta present for you, actually. A cute little purple bird-shaped present in need of an arm full of stitches, but. You know, a present's a present." Tony sprays his hands down, throws on a pair of gloves, and wraps a tourniquet to Clint's arm. "We're maybe an hour out, one point five tops - feel like playing doctor?"

"Tony…" Bruce laughs softly on the line, "I _am_ a doctor."

"Oh. Right." Tony grins cheekily, and even if Bruce can't see it, Barton can, who rolls his eyes and resumes his previous position on the floor. "Well, then this'll be an easy game for you, then."

"I'll see you in an hour, Tony," Bruce says good-naturedly, and hangs up to presumably scrub up or grab his sewing kit or whatever it is Bruce does when he's about to stitch up a nice, tasty bullet wound.

"So…" Clint says a few minutes later. He smirks up at Tony. "Avengers Tower?"

"I don't control what the public calls it," Tony snarks without any real heat. "And clean your blood off my floor!"

***

It's actually seventy six minutes before the HeliStark scoots into the hangar on top of Avengers Tower, and Bruce is camped out waiting for them, fingers flying across his tablet for, presumably, any more updates on SHIELD. Tony leads Barton out, the archer's left arm slung over Tony's shoulder in a companionable way, as if Clint was an old drinking buddy and not a one-time teammate who was having trouble walking on a swollen ankle.

Bruce is up immediately, rolling up his sleeves, snapping on a pair of white chalky gloves. He spies Clint's blood-soaked bandage, the tourniquet on his upper arm and he's jogging over, gloved fingers carefully pulling the gauze back. "Hmm," he says conversationally. His smile is easy, but polite, distant. They lead him over and have him sit on a long metal table that Bruce obviously just rolled in. "Well, fortunately for you it didn't tear through any muscle. Let's get it stitched up and I'll see about getting you some pain killers."

"Just give me a bottle of tequila and I should be fine," Clint says breezily, his left hand picking at the buttons of his shirt. Tony bats it away and divests him of it quickly, letting out a low whistle at the mottled purple bruise blooming on his ribcage. Bruce sprays the gash down again and sticks him with a local anesthetic before prodding at the wound with one finger, testing to see how it moves under his touch. Meanwhile, Tony drops to knees and gingerly unlaces Barton's boot. Clint sighs lightly as it slips off his foot.

Bruce takes a peek at Clint's foot. "Break or sprain?" he asks.

"Feels like a sprain," he says conversationally, waving his free hand. "Though I wouldn't rule out a fracture - I kicked a couple guys' teeth in on my way out."

"Damn Barton, you sure know how to show a girl a good time," Tony says with a wink, and Bruce times the first prick of the suture with Clint's loud snort. "We got an x-ray upstairs to check you out with, and I'm sure we got something for you lying around to take the edge off."

" _Jesus_ , I forgot how much that smarts," he grumbles through gritted teeth. Clint digs his nails into his thigh and grunts when Bruce pulls the thread tight and moves to the next stitch. "Yeah, sure, x-ray, whatever you want. All I want is a place to sleep for the next sixteen hours."

"What am I, a bed and breakfast?" Tony bitches, but he stands and stretches, muttering about pill bottles, ice, and ingrates as he strolls to the elevator and disappears from Clint's line of sight.

To Bruce's credit, he waits an entire thirty seconds before saying mildly, "You know, it's not easy to stay off Tony's radar for any length of time, let alone two whole _years_."

Clint exhales shortly at the next stitch; the man sure knew how to send a chill down his spine with the minimum amount of effort. "Spent six months on mandatory leave in recup, the last eighteen in various deep undercover ops," Clint replied, settling his gaze on the far wall, all glass and sleek chrome. "Stark's keepin' tabs on us, now?"

Bruce hums softly. "Tony Stark can hack into - sorry _could've_ hacked into - SHIELD's databases in under ninety minutes. He can become an expert in any field he chooses in a matter of hours. He doesn't remember people's birthdays or what he had for breakfast, but he won't throw away the first robot he ever built, and he'll burn through thousands of dollars on a training area that no one will ever use or thank him for." Clint drags his eyes back to Bruce, somewhat startled, and Bruce smiles down at him.

It terrifies Clint, to be honest.

"The point is-" Bruce continues lightly, finishing with Clint's arm and shifting between the other man's legs to look at the gash on Clint's brow, "close your eyes please, thank you - the point is, Agent Barton, that Tony had meetings lined up all afternoon with a lot of people willing to give him a _lot_ of money, but instead, he got in his helicopter and flew to Canada to come pick you up. And you haven't called him once in two years. None of you have." He washes off the cut, sticks three small butterfly bandages to his forehead.

Tony comes back then with an ice pack and rattling bottle, singing, "Open up, birdie, this is one worm you _definitely_ want to swallow."

Clint takes the pills, swallows them dry, and allows Tony to get back down on the ground in his three thousand dollar suit to tape an ice pack to his ankle.

"Now," Bruce says sweetly, as if the past five minutes hadn't just happened at all, "let's go get you an x-ray."

***

Clint's foot ends up being fine, but there's a hairline fracture in his right hand he probably got punching his way out the fifth floor of the goon base. Bruce sends him off with an order to sleep until he doesn't quite look like death warmed over.

Tony'd dipped out when they got to Bruce's lab, but he returns just as Bruce starts shooing Clint out with a wheelchair and a crack about seeing if Clint would mind doing wheelchair races sometime. He rolls Barton into the elevator leisurely and it takes them up, past the hangar, past the balcony Loki had destroyed last time Clint was anywhere near the building. It stops at the second highest floor, and Tony mutters something under his breath and waves his hand outward in the general direction of the outside of the elevator.

"What was that, old man?" Clint shoots back with a grin.

"Turn up your hearing aid, you bastard!" Tony shouts back, but there's a smile tugging at his lips, which only serves to make Clint's grin wider when he flips Tony the bird. "Some of us," Tony snips with a laugh, "actually still have _jobs_ to go back to-"

"Stark, _ouch_ , way to cut straight to my heart - it's been, what, an hour-?"

"-so this is your room," Tony finishes with a note of finality; he'd somehow squeezed in a shower and a change of clothes when he was gone and tugs lightly on the cuffs of his suit jacket. He waves his hand again and grabs the wheelchair, wheeling Barton out and into the living room. "Just, ah," Tony fidgets again, "make yourself at home. JARVIS can give you the tour."

Tony nearly runs to the elevator and marks his retreat with a quiet _ding_.

"JARVIS?" Clint tests out loud, eyes scanning the living area; it's modern, but cozy, and nothing at all like Clint expected Tony's tastes to be.

"Good evening, Agent Barton," a polite voice replies. "Your bedroom is down at the end of the hall, with a connected bathroom should you desire to wash up before settling in. You are authorized to freely access any of the top ten floors of Avengers Tower, the training area, and the hangar deck, as well as limited access to Sir's and Dr. Banner's personal labs. Any other floor will require you to sign in with Sir or Mr. Hogan. There is a communal kitchen and recreational area eight floors down, however I can also bring up the numbers to a variety of restaurants willing to deliver to your floor. Should you require any assistance or desire to contact anyone in or out of the tower, I can also connect you to their personal lines directly."

The words _training area_ cling to the back of his throat like cheap hairspray, and he makes himself ask, "How long has the training area been here?" He hesitates, and then: "When'd they start calling it 'Avengers Tower'?"

"Since 2012, sir," is the quiet reply.

Clint blinks, nice and slow. "Thanks, JARVIS," he says, his voice a little strange and hollow to his own ears. He's not sure what that means exactly. "I think I'm just going to lie down for a little bit."

"There is a button directly beneath your right armrest to provide you with a limited amount of mobility," JARVIS supplies helpfully and, sure enough, when Clint ticks the button forward, the chair goes with the motion. He leaves the chair at the door and hobbles in, eyes flitting back and forth, jaw going just a little bit slack as the answers to his unasked questions finally click into place.

The room had been designed with him in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are so sweet, thank you for the kudos!! ;w;

Tony lets his fist slam down on the workbench.

"God _damnit_ ," he swears and punches it again. Tony rips his gaze away from the giant block of text in front of him ( _every dirty secret SHIELD had ever tried to hide_ ) and back to half-finished schematics hovering just to his right. He damn near _growls_ and bunches the whole hologram up, tossing it in the trash. "Goddamnit," he hisses again. "I should've seen this coming - I could've _done something_ -"

"Yeah, but you didn't."

Tony whips his head around to glare furiously at Clint. "When the hell'd you get in here?" he asks. A man should not be able to move that quietly on a busted ankle.

Clint shrugs his good shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets. "JARVIS said I had limited lab access."

Tony frowns, turns back to the screens and flicks up a handful of new HYDRA-infested secrets, barely brushing the surface. "I was on that damn Helicarrier _two years ago_. I was _in_ their damn mainframe. If I'd just dug a little longer, a little deeper-" He nearly bites his own tongue in two. _All those people_ , his traitorous mind whispers. _You could've saved them. Could've brought the bad guys in without all the bloodshed._

"You really are as arrogant as people say you are, aren't you?" Clint sits on a stool, braces his forearms on his thighs. "I'm not saying your ego's undeserved," Clint presses on, before Tony can spit at him or throw him out or something, "but you were there, what? Four hours? HYDRA had been there for _decades_. Fury was the goddamn director, and he didn't even know about the snakes in the grass until they tried to assassinate him." Clint shrugs again, the picture of cool indifference, and murmurs, "You know. Don't go blaming yourself for something that wasn't even your responsibility to begin with."

Tony sighs, deflates. He flicks up another window with one finger. "You know Coulson's alive, right?" he says as a non-sequitur. The weight on his chest feels a little lighter now.

Clint's face hardens. "Yeah," he whispers. "I know."

"Tony?" This time, both of them whip around to see one Pepper Potts standing at the door to his workshop. She smiles, a tired thing. "Can I talk to you a minute?" she asks.

Clint nods and stands. "I'll come back," he says on his way out the door.

"Pep?" Tony asks.

"Maria Hill is in the lobby downstairs," Pepper says without preamble. _Shit_ , Tony whistles internally. "She wants a _job_."

This time Tony does whistle out loud. "She's smart, I'll give her that much," Tony replies. Pepper shoots him an incredulous look. "What? It's what I'd do. Her super secret spy club just got totaled and decreed a terrorist organization, she needs to avoid prison, and _I've_ got _amazing_ lawyers." Tony nods. "Done. Set her up in HR - she'll do wonders for the privatized security services we're rolling out within a few months."

Pepper leans in and brushes her lips against his forehead. "Okay," she whispers, and Tony reaches out and circles his arms around her waist. She hums softly, kisses his temple again. "You should rebuild your suits," she says then; Tony stiffens guiltily and Pepper cards her fingers through his hair. "Not- not all of them, but a few. With SHIELD out of the picture for the foreseeable future, it just… it makes sense. For you to have a few suits." Her fingers tighten in his hair and she breathes the scent of him in deep. Tony wonders what he smells like to make her do that so often. "Just a few," she repeats softly.

Tony tightens his grip on her. "Thanks, Pep," he says, his voice a little gravelly. He knows how much it costs her to say this.

"Just a few," Pepper says one more time, just in case. She buries her face in his hair and breathes in again. "And you have to be careful."

"Okay," Tony promises. "I'll be careful." Tony knows he won't, and so does Pepper.

Tony wonders if it's killing her to have him in the suit as much as it's killing him to be out of it.

***

When Pepper leaves a short while later, Clint is back almost immediately, plopping his annoying ass firmly down in Tony's personal space. There's no way his squirrely spy tendencies didn't stop him from eavesdropping on their conversation, but, wisely enough, he doesn't mention a word of it, merely pulling up the long list of SHIELD secrets again and settling in to read.

"You know that's on the internet, right?" Tony says, a little sharper around the edges than he really means to. "You don't actually have to be in here to read that."

Clint grins, all teeth. "But then I wouldn't have the _wonderful_ privilege of your company."

"I'm beginning to regret picking your sorry ass up after all, Barton," Tony mouths off, all bluster. He turns back to his own work area, starts flipping through schematics, and, after only a moment's hesitation, brings up one of the last Iron Man suit designs he'd been working on. It's a few months outdated, but nothing that can't be updated in the next hour.

What does it say about him that he's already itching to curl his fingers around a blow-torch?

Clint's still smirking at him, one hand propped under his chin. He says, "You know, you talk a big game, but I can see those bow schematics you're working on, and you're not exactly the archer of the group."

"I'm gonna yank out your hearing aid and step on it in my Iron Man boot," Tony threatens, jabbing one finger in Clint's general direction and very visibly dunking Clint's bow designs in the trash.

Clint's eyes narrow to slits, turning his smile feral, like a cat slinking towards its prey. "Then I'll just spend all day talking shit about you right-" Clint brings his hands out in front of him, palms in, fingertips just barely overlapping, and bounces one hand forward. Then he lifts one hand to chest height, palm out and pointed towards Tony. Finally, he drags a finger in a circle around his face and gives Tony one long, exaggerated wink.

Tony's mouth is twitching, but he's not going to give in and smile at the bastard. "I'm gonna break into your room and fill every inch of it with tiny legos just for you to step on. Then who's going to be the one laughing?"

"As long as I don't have to hear it," Barton simpers.

"We're not a team, you know," Tony says suddenly, voice remarkably sober.

"I know," Clint says with a soft smile. He flips down another page in the long list of freshly spilled secrets. "But we could be."

Yeah, Tony thinks. They really could be.

***

JARVIS has explicit instructions to alert Tony the second there's any ping of a Steve Rogers or Natasha Romanoff in any news/social media outlet, in any form or fashion, but no sooner is JARVIS pulling up a feed of a familiar redhead in the middle of a Senate meeting is Clint calling him up, blurting, "Natasha's in Capitol Hill."

"I see it," Tony confirms, already setting down his half-finished chest piece. "I'm on it, Barton - see you in a few hours."

He takes his private plane this time, and then from the airstrip one of his snazzier limos, with all the bells and whistles a Tony Stark car has to offer. The ride is short, but uneventful, and Tony alleviates his boredom by texting various emoticons to Pepper, who doesn't even bother to dignify them with a responses save for the first _Tony_. He makes it to the meeting hall just in time to see Natasha dress down a room full of Senators and military officials with the face of an angel and the bite of a shark.

Tony couldn't be prouder, really.

All eyes are on her, but when Tony lifts his arm and calls out "Natasha!", all cameras turn to him and immediately start pressing him for quotes. Natasha gives him a droll look and rolls her eyes, but allows him to sweep his arm around the small of her back and move to lead her out of the meeting hall, an army of reporters at their heels.

For all their talk of arrests and jail time, no one's bullheaded enough to try shit when she's walking with Tony Stark and his giant team of lawyers on speed dial.

"Natasha!" he says again, eyes twinkling. "Fancy meeting you here - love what you've done with your hair, by the way - walk with us, why don't you? You remember Happy, don't you? Happy, say hi."

"Ms. Rushm-Romanoff," Happy corrects with a nod and a little wave. "I'm here for security purposes only."

"And your services are greatly appreciated, Happy - I don't know what I'd do without you," Tony says with a smile over his sunshades. He turns to Natasha and lets his hand drop so he can shove them in his pockets. "So. Got a little birdie up in New York who's just dying to see you - shredded all my furniture, crapped on the floor, the whole nine yards. Feel like takin' a day trip?"

Natasha's focus seems to lock down at the mention of Barton and her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. "Yes, take me there," she says, clasping her hands behind her back. Tony wonders if that's a tell. Her eyes drop for a second, the corners of her lips pursing, and yeah, that one's definitely a tell, and then Natasha whispers, "Is he okay? I know he was doing some undercover work-"

"He's banged up, but he'll be fine in a month or two," Tony replies; they make it outside and set a brusque pace, striding down past the gates and out to Tony's limo. Tony slips in first, then Natasha, then Happy, and the driver pulls out immediately and makes for the airport.

Natasha sinks into the seat bonelessly. "Good," she finally whispers. "Good."

Tony gives her about a minute to rest before tightening his grip on his glass and going in for the kill, metaphorically speaking. "You know, I was shocked - _shocked_ , I say - that I had to hear about all of Fury's toys going down in the river over the _news_."

"Stark," Natasha cuts in. " _Don't_."

"Don't what, Natasha?" Tony looks at her, but it's through his shades, another type of armor he's never quite comfortable without. "You and Rogers get your asses into deep SHIELD shit and - instead of calling me or Pepper or JARVIS for help - I have to find out _on the news_?"

"You were in _Malibu_ ," she accuses, and a stray lock of hair falls across her cheek. She brushes it back irritably. Happy, bless him, suddenly finds the outside scenery _very_ interesting.

Tony's jaw tightens and he turns back to face forward, curling both hands around his glass now. "And you think that would have stopped me from coming to help you guys?" he asks lowly.

"You're not exactly built for stealth, Stark," Natasha points out. "Besides, I thought you got rid of your suits."

The words _Iron Man: Yes. Tony Stark: Not Recommended_ pop up, unbidden in his mind, and he has to swallow the bitter bile of a two-year old failure in his throat. "Well, you thought wrong," he says. "But I forgot - I'm just a consultant. Textbook narcissism, self-destructive tendencies, all that shebang-"

"Tony," Natasha breaks in quietly. "That's not what I meant. We didn't have any safe form of communication. We didn't know who we could trust."

_In other words_ , Tony's brain hisses scathingly to himself, _not you_.

"Right, look where we are, it's the airport!" Tony exclaims suddenly. He gives Happy a little pat on the arm. "Come on, Happy, scoot, scoot, scoot."

Natasha stays quiet the rest of the ride.

***

Clint is in his suite when they get back to the tower, his leg and arm propped on a pillow, fingers locked around the remote control, but it's obviously just for show because the second Tony shows her in the TV's off and Clint's limping over. He throws an arm around her shoulder and takes in a deep, shuddering breath as he buries his face in her neck.

"What the hell, Nat, did my invitation get lost in the mail or something?" Clint mumbles into her jacket. "You know I'm always down for some anarchy and blowing shit up."

Natasha sighs and pulls her arms around him in a hug, mindful of his stitches. "Sorry I couldn't come pick you up," she whispers back and ducks her head to brush her cheek against his hair.

"Eh, don't worry about it," he says eventually, pulling back. "Hey, Stark!" Clint calls over her shoulder. "Come back here and let's all get something to eat - I know a good Cantonese place down the block-"

"You mean JARVIS knows a good Cantonese place down the block," Tony shoots back, but doesn't slow his pace. "Besides, I've got about fifty things I need to do in the next twenty-four hours and eating isn't even in the top twenty."

"Yeah, like what?" Clint sasses. "A life-size monument to your goatee?"

"Woah, woah, let's leave my baby out of this," Tony says, slipping one hand up to caress his chin.

Natasha flicks her gaze back and forth between them, then says, almost cautiously, "I wouldn't mind the company."

Tony smirks, but it's half-assed, like he'd really like to but can't anyway. "Tempting, but I'm gonna have to pass. Let's see - I have to finish my chest piece, my gauntlets, I have an entire left leg of alloys to weld, I need to install JARVIS into my temp suit, reschedule about a thousand board meetings that Pepper's going to try and make me go to, I have flight simulations and suit tests, I gotta go check on my new favorite employee-"

"Maria Hill," Clint supplies under his breath, and Natasha blinks at him in surprise.

"-I've got to go through no less than three hundred various contracts with outside companies and make sure HYDRA doesn't have or get any more of my tech-" Tony's shoulders tighten at that, and Natasha wishes she could see his eyes to get a better idea of what exactly that face is that Tony Stark is making. "So," he finishes, throwing his arms out like _voilà_. "As you can see, pesky things like eating will have to come later. Have fun without me, though, take my credit card, buy yourself somethin' nice." Tony turns on his heel, pauses, then whirls back around. "Your, ah," he says to Natasha, "your room's downstairs. Stay the night, use it for whatever you want - shower or make phone calls or whatever it is you superspies do in your spare time - and, I'll catch you before you leave again. JARVIS and Clint can show you around." Then he tugs on his cufflinks, spins around one more time and disappears down the stairs.

No sooner has Tony left the floor than Natasha's looking back at Clint suspiciously. "When the hell did you move in here?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.

Clint grins and shrugs a shoulder. "Day before yesterday?" Natasha blinks again and turns back to give the room another, closer scrutinizing glance and blurts, "Impossible."

"I know, right?" Clint laughs and falls down into an armchair, sliding slow and careful fingers across the soft leather. "It's uh- it's been here actually. All our rooms have."

That's surprising. Natasha wonders if Fury knew this. If he would've told her if she'd asked. "They've been here for awhile, then," she says with sudden certainty.

"Since the Battle of New York," Clint says, a forced lightness in his tone. "Tony said he wasn't sleeping much at the time, and he had to rebuild the penthouse floors anyway so it was just an excuse for something to do, but I'm not sure that's the whole truth. Is it, JARVIS?"

"My protocols inform me that I have no idea what you could be referring to, Agent Barton," the AI replies innocently.

"Yeah, that's lab speak for Tony told him not to tell," Clint grumbles. He grins wryly, stands up again. "So - dumplings?"

"Clint…" Clint looks back at Natasha, and she purses her lips in thought. "Why Stark?" she asks. Clint doesn't bond with people, doesn't make friends or even allies as easily as he should, given his easy-going attitude. He'll pick up a girl covered in the blood of a dozen men and take her some place safe and warm, but he'll shoot down fifty offers to join a tactical squad of highly decorated field agents faster than he can nock an arrow, and spend months at a time making false friendships and connections to root out heads of dangerous organizations. He's a loner, or had been, and the last team he'd been on had broken up before it even started. Natasha has an inkling, better than, actually, but she still wants to hear him say it, for some reason she can't quite fathom.

Clints smiles. "He came when I called."

***

Nine hours later, the main pieces of the Mark XLIV (sans heavy artillery) have been assembled, Tony's run through a hundred and forty of his three hundred and ninety eight various tech contracts, and he's even managed to get Pepper to cover his meetings for the next two days.

He _may_ have told her he'd be using that time to sleep, but… Tony shakes his head. It always takes his body a few days to re-regulate after a panic attack, so the harder he works now, the better he'll be able to crash later.

"Sir…" JARVIS starts gently. "Perhaps you should consider consuming something that is neither a liquid nor growing mold sometime in the near future."

"Now where would the fun in that be, JARVIS?" Tony murmurs fondly, brushing a bead of sweat from his face with his forearm. He sighs and sits back, inspecting the various nicks and blisters on his calloused hands before lifting one finger up to chew on a hangnail. The smell of stale, burnt coffee wafts over from his machine and he gets up to make a fresh pot. "If I buckle down and _really_ work, I can probably get both armors operational and running simulations before I bully my way into SHIELD-slash-HYDRA's busted up headquarters to demand any and all remnants of my tech back."

"Sir, you have not slept in over sixty hours," JARVIS replies, sounding almost miffed. It warms Tony to the cockles of his heart, really, to know JARVIS cares so much. "And I am not entirely sure your back can take much more of your 'buckling down', as you put it."

"I should be offended that you're pointing out my advanced age, JARVIS," Tony mumbles with a small, pleased smile.

"It is not so much your age, as the fact you have been bent over your workstation for nearly ten hours in a stance not conducive to proper spine alignment," JARVIS notes. "Though if you would like me to call attention to the fact that I have counted two more grey hairs than normal-"

"That's enough out of you!" Tony laughs, shaking his finger at the ceiling. JARVIS' resounding silence might as well be a giant, asshole-y smirk right in Tony's face. Tony sighs. "Fine, fine, I'll let you take over the next batch of contracts - and make sure you scan the military contracts extra closely. If they're not scanning software or filtration devices I wanna know exactly what they've been doing the past eighteen months and what shitty-ass modifications or," Tony makes a face, does a single finger-quote in the air, "'upgrades' they've been attempting on my stuff. I don't want another goddamn unauthorized weapon on _anything_ with the name _Stark_ on it."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS smoothly replies. "Am I to assume that Colonel Rhodes is exempt from the modifications list?"

Tony waves a hand. "Rhodey's due for a suit check soon, anyway. He's coming here- soon, right?"

"Just in time for your birthday," JARVIS confirms. "Now, if that will be all, sir, I believe Agents Barton and Romanoff have left some leftover Chinese in the fridge upstairs. Considering the status of the Mark XLIV, would you like me to begin repurposing the Mark XLIII for stealth modes?"

"JARVIS, you are a gem among stones," Tony says with a grin. "Go for it. Let me know when they're ready for flight tests and I'll head down to the training room."

"I estimate they will be ready for preliminary testing in about sixteen hours." There's a pause, and then an innocent, "The perfect amount of time to wind down, have dinner, and get a full-night's rest."

"Uh huh," Tony hums, lips twitching. He stands and stretches and marvels at the pull of his muscles, the satisfying _pop pop pop_ of his spine. "Hey, JARVIS, you manage to clean up the Triskelion footage from the other day yet?"

"I did, sir."

Tony hums again. "Pull it up, lemme see it." A holographic screen appears to his right and Tony drags a finger along the image, fast-forwarding until he sees a small, man-sized dot sailing through the air. He spreads his fingers to enlarge the picture, but it's too grainy to make much of a difference. "This is the best we can do, huh?" he mumbles.

"There is only so much I can do with cellphone cameras, sir," JARVIS primly replies, and Tony snorts, flicking his hand to let the rest of the clip play.

"That put your circuits in a twist, J?" he teases, plows on before JARVIS can retaliate, "Don't worry about it, it's fine. He was helping Cap during the battle, right? Is he SHIELD?"

"It does not appear that way, sir," JARVIS notes, "though I cannot be sure either way. It does appear his participation was instrumental in the disabling of the Helicarriers, however."

"Hmm." Tony scratches his chin in thought. "We've still got a few of the new StarkPhones lying around here somewhere right?"

"The ones set to come out this Christmas?" JARVIS asks. "I believe you have a box of the beta models in the cabinet on the far wall."

Sure enough, Tony does. He grabs the box, grins, practically skips out the door in his glee. He grabs the entire carafe on his way out, just because he can. 

Sleep will come eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little tricky to gather from context, but the words Clint signs when he's talkin shit to Tony are: IN-FRONT-OF YOUR FACE.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahh, a little early again, but I got so excited I couldn't wait. enjoy!!

Natasha breezes into the kitchen early next morning, not a hair out of place, and Tony grins from his place at the kitchen table. "Good morning to you, too, Ms. Superspy, make yourself at home."

Her eyes flick from the coffee pot to Stark and back to the pot again. She ends up going for the machine first. Smart woman. "You look like death," she tells him resolutely, spooning a few heaping teaspoons of sugar into her cup.

"Careful, I'm a taken man now, Ms. Romanoff," Tony snarks. "You can't win me over with your empty flattery."

Natasha takes a sip, closes her eyes, and sighs. Yeah, his coffee's that good. "I was actually hoping to catch you before you passed out," she says then, meeting his eyes; Tony resists (just barely) the urge to drop his gaze down to his own cup. "We could have called you," Natasha continues. "We didn't. I'm sorry."

Tony blinks, brings a hand up to his face to rub at his eyes. "Huh. Did I fall asleep?" he asks the air. "Could you repeat that?"

Natasha purses her lips. "No."

Tony grins. "Can I expect more apologies like this in the future?" he asks, all teeth.

Natasha narrows her eyes and pours herself another cup. "No," she replies.

Tony should really stop, the woman could kill him with her pinky, but. "What about-?" Tony starts with a laugh.

" _Nope_ ," Natasha cuts him off with a sweet smile, batting her lashes. "I am perfect and, unfortunately for you, I've filled my apology quota for the next five years."

Clint picks that moment to shuffle into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and hair sticking up probably as impressively as Tony's is at the moment. He reaches out, grabs the coffee pot, and starts drinking directly from the carafe, one hand braced on the counter behind him.

Tony is utterly _scandalized_. "Don't drink out of my _coffee pot, Barton_ ," he gasps. "Were you raised in a barn?"

"Circus, actually," Clint corrects. He shakes the half-empty carafe and says, "You have two coffee pots in here - one is _obviously_ for me."

"I can't even tell if you're joking or not," Tony says, dumbfounded. "Barton, they're both my coffee pots and neither are yours to put your weird ass, bird-loving mouth on."

"Who is the one that keeps making the bird jokes, Stark?" Clint asks around the lid of the pot.

"Sir, perhaps I should call Dr. Banner before Agent Romanoff has to leave," JARVIS cuts in quickly.

"Bruce?" Natasha asks, blinking.

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah," Tony says with a snap of his fingers. "Call him up - I've got presents." He hauls the box out from under his chair and drops it on the table with a resounding _thunk_.

"Presents?" Clint asks, the lone coffee pot forgotten as he takes a seat to Tony's left, Natasha following.

Tony smirks, lifts the lid, and the look on Natasha's face is probably worth half his family fortune.

"Phones," she states slowly. Natasha lifts her mug, stops, put it back down on the table. "You are unbelievable."

"Now you can call me anytime you want," Tony beams.

Clint claps a hand to his mouth, snorts into his palm. "She's going to hit you," he tells Tony through his fit of giggles. "You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, the new StarkPhones," Bruce notes as he appears in the doorway. "Didn't I already get one of those?"

"You did," Tony declares with a pointed finger in the air, "but these are different. Special. Different-special. I repurposed them four hours ago to cater specifically to fit our superhero-slash-spy needs." He picks one up, drops it on the floor, picks it up again and displays it to the group with a wide, satisfied grin. "Won't break unless you drop the Hulk on it, waterproof, direct connect to all the other members of our super secret boy-plus-girl-band, and!" Tony punches a finger to the screen and swipes it open. "You can program it to set out a distress call via special lock-code or voice key."

Clint snatches one up first, flipping it around in his hand. He hums, then throws it against the floor with a sharp _smack_.

" _Woah_ ," Tony shouts. "Do I throw your stuff, Barton?"

"You said it wouldn't break," Clint quips, picking it up and giving a little nod. He grins. "I like it."

Natasha reaches out and plucks another phone from the box, then hands one back to Bruce. "This is very thoughtful, Tony," she says, voice soft. "Thank you."

"Not thoughtful," Tony corrects. "An _investment_. I don't get left out of any cool parties anymore. Check the speed dial - that's me. Number one. In your speed dial for the parties."

Natasha purses her lips, but this time it's obviously in an effort to hide her smile. She peers in the box and asks, "One of these is for Steve, right? Who are the other ones for?"

"One's for Thor if he ever gets his ass back to Earth," Tony says. He pulls two more phones out of the box and studies the slick screens. "That dude flying through the air at the Triskelion," Tony says then. "One of SHIELD's?"

Natasha shakes her head. "One of Steve's."

Tony quirks a small grin. "Thought so." He tosses the phones through the air, one after another, and Natasha catches them both beautifully. "That one's for him then."

She looks down at the three phones in front of her and smiles. "Okay," she says quietly. "I'll relay the message."

"All the party invites, Romanoff," Tony threatens with a quick jab of his finger. "Even the ones you think are lame. Even the ones without strippers. Wait. JARVIS!" Tony shouts to the air. "I gotta box. Of shit. A box of shit in the place-"

Bruce wrinkles his nose to try and stop the smile. "A little unsanitary, Tony," he says, laughing anyway.

"I have a box!" Tony says again, and JARVIS takes that opportunity to intervene.

"Sir has assembled a small collection of equipment, et cetera for you and Captain Rogers to use at your discretion. I believe it is in the living room."

"Exactly," Tony replies. "That's exactly what I said."

"Go to sleep, Stark," Natasha tells him. "I'll invite you to all the parties from now on."

"Good," Tony says, then promptly passes out in his chair.

***

Tony wakes up twelve hours later, in bed, Pepper to his right on her tablet. Whatever fragments of the dream he'd been having elude him, but there's a sour taste in his mouth that could either be the result of a nightmare, his morning (now night) breath, or some foul combination of the two. He grunts and buries his face in the pillow.

"Hey," she says softly, leaning over to brush a kiss against his cheek. "You've been busy," she continues, approving. "JARVIS finished going over your contracts about an hour ago - they all look good, for the moment."

Tony hums. "That's good," he tells the pillow. "How're the suits lookin', J?" he asks, rolling over on his back.

"The Mark XLIII has been fitted with the retroreflective panels," JARVIS dutifully replies, "and the Mark XLIV should be ready for deployment-assembly tests within the hour."

Tony squints and checks the clock. "I thought you said sixteen hours," he says suspiciously.

"I will endeavor to be less productive in the future, sir," comes the dry reply.

"I'm gonna rewrite your voice code to give you a southern hillbilly accent," Tony sasses. Pepper laughs quietly and threads her fingers through his hair.

"Natasha left a little after Bruce dragged you up here to sleep," she tells him. "Clint's been on his floor all day reading through SHIELD and HYDRA files and making phone calls."

Tony makes a sleepy noise low in his throat and shuffles over to tuck his head in Pepper's lap. "When did you get in?" he asks around a yawn.

"About half an hour ago." Pepper gives his scalp a scratch and Tony sighs blissfully. "I can't stay long though - I have a video conference with a few of our investors in Taipei in about an hour, and then I have a meeting with our publicity team first thing tomorrow."

"Publicity team?" Tony mumbles sleepily.

Pepper stops scratching his head and Tony very nearly _whines_ , but she just tips his chin up to look at her and says, "Tony, Iron Man is coming back - we're going to have to issue a statement, make press conferences-" 

"Pepper, I _am_ Iron Man - I never went anywhere," Tony groans. 

"-show the public and the military we're doing this for the defense of the nation and not just a publicity stunt-" Pepper continues, ticking off the list on her fingers.

"They're going to say that anyway," Tony blusters.

"-maybe a few interviews with the other Avengers if we can snake them-" Pepper mutters under her breath.

"We don't have to-" Tony weakly starts.

"Yes," Pepper says firmly, eyes narrowing. "We do."

Tony groans and rolls over to bury his face in the sheets again. "I changed my mind, I don't wanna build the suits anymore."

"Too late," she sing-songs, giving Tony a little tap on the nose with an expertly manicured nail. Pepper hesitates, then sets her tablet aside and turns to wrap Tony up in her arms, her grip so tight he can feel the bones in her long delicate limbs. "This is for the best," Pepper says, and her voice is steady, but her fingers are shaking.

"Yeah, Pep," Tony whispers, curling into her embrace. "I know."

Pepper stays long enough that both their arms go numb, then gets up to go get ready for her meeting.

***

The next time Tony thinks to check his phone it's blinking up at him in vivid arc reactor blue, _New Message(s)_ flashing on the screen. When he flicks the notification open, there are two texts, both from Natasha.

 _The boys say thanks for the new toys. :)_ , the first one reads.

The second text is a little longer, sent about an hour after the first one, and makes Tony smirk at the sight of it.

_Not that I don't like my room, Stark… but why exactly do I have an entire shelf of trashy Russian romance novels??_

Tony swipes his finger across the keyboard, types out, _thought you'd appreciate the irony, Romanoff._

_Unbelievable_ , is the immediate response.

***

" _April 16, 2014. Mark XLV automated deployment: test number six_."

Tony shoots a finger gun at the camera then spreads his arms out wide, reveling in the sharp sting of freshly upgraded computer chips under his skin. He takes a deep breath, then flicks one wrist. The gauntlet on the table whirs to life, then shoots apart from the other armor pieces and slips on his hand like a glove. Tony flexes his fingers and the metal expands in a solid _shnk shnk shnk_ down his wrist to his forearm, and then the next piece of his armor joins, connects with a sharp metallic _click_ , and so on until he's armored to his shoulder guard.

"Okay," Tony says quietly to himself; his other hand closes into a fist then he punches outwards, jerks his arm back towards his body, and the remaining pieces of his armor zoom out to join the rest. His faceplate snaps to his helmet, firm but secure, and Tony lets out a little whoop. "Thrusters, two percent!"

He straightens his legs automatically, the motion rusty save for his muscle memory, and Tony lets his hands fall out to his sides to stabilize. "Thrusters, ten percent," Tony says then, and feels the power rocket through them. " _Yeah!_ " he shouts with a fist pump. Tony drops to the ground in his natural crouch, eyes on the target on the far wall, and takes off at full speed, flying from one end of the training area to the other, then starting on a high-powered loop around the track.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

Clint looks up from the pieces of his dismantled mechanical quiver. Maria Hill looks down at him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised; behind them, the Iron Man zips by in a blur of red and gold. Tony lurches to a stop, hands out to steady his descent, and lets the pieces of the armor fall off with a roll of his shoulders.

"Mark XLV automated deployment: test number seven," Tony says, and jerks both his arms out.

Clint grins. "You know how I like to collect strays," he says breezily.

The mechanized voice of Iron Man cuts in before she can reply. "I'm sorry, who collected who now?" he shoots at Clint as he whips by for another lap.

Maria's eyes crinkle and she takes a seat beside Barton. "How's the arm and foot?" she asks, pulling a gun from her waistband and methodically dismantling it. She grabs a spare bore brush and some lubricant.

Clint shrugs. "I'm more annoyed I can't keep in form than anything," he admits, "but I'll survive."

Maria nods resolutely. "You will," she tells him. "We all will."

"You're really okay with not working for SHIELD?" Clint blurts suddenly, his eyes back on his equipment. Even with one hand in a splint, he makes quick work of re-assembling his quiver.

"For now," she says, the smallest of secrets in her voice. She smiles sadly at nothing in particular. "We'll get back to where we need to be eventually."

"Yeah?" Clint asks, but it's not really a question.

"Yeah," Maria answers anyway; she's already starting to put her gun together, so she continues with, "For the moment, you guys are doing exactly what you should be."

Clint raises one eyebrow, looks back as Tony shoots a repulsor beam at a test dummy. "Sitting around doing nothing?" he asks, half-heated, half-serious.

Maria clicks her barrel, turns the gun in her hands to check the safety, and slips it back in the holster on her pants. "Being here," she corrects. "Trying to be a team."

Clint's gaze slips back to the table, to his hands resting on the smooth silver surface, and he says, "I've never been a good team-player," he confesses. "I- I want to, but I don't even know if I can even do the whole 'team' thing."

Maria shrugs. "Something you and Stark have in common," she divulges. "You two seem to be getting along fairly well so far."

"Yeah, well, we have similar coping methods for awkward situations," Clint says with a wry grin. He sobers, finally turns to look back at Maria. "How can you be so sure this'll work?" he asks her. "How do you know we can do this?"

Maria smiles, says, "Because we need you to."

***

"Sign this," Tony says, thrusting a tablet under Clint's nose; he shakes it a few times when Clint doesn't immediately respond. "Come on, bird boy, time is money."

"What exactly am I signing?" Clint asks as he snatches the tablet up. He peers down at the block of texts, swipes down a page, and raises an eyebrow. "You're offering me a job," he says. Like it's a question, but it's not.

"My lawyers are _amazing_ ," Tony reminds him with a smile. "Hill's already been harassed by the big bad bullies on the White House playground; they haven't found you yet, but it's only a matter of time, and this way you're protected for the foreseeable future. Nothing big, you sign on the dotted line, I get your soul, your future children, half a pint of blood to do creepy undisclosed experiments with. Ready to be my very own personal shoe-shiner?"

Barton looks at him, down at the tablet, back at him again. He signs the document (if 'signature' is what you would call it) and sets it within Tony's reach. "You're insane," he tells him bluntly.

"Ah ah - eccentric," Tony corrects, snatching up the tablet; he flashes his teeth in a wide open grin. "There's a difference."

"Whatever you say, jefe," Clint says, then rolls over on the couch and goes back to sleep.

***

Bruce is still squirreled away in his lab when Tony finds him next, blood and various other substances whirling around in one of Bruce's larger centrifuges. "Hello, Tony," Bruce greets, scribbling something down on his tablet. His eyes are still glued to his notes, but he grins and says, "I snuck a peek at your suit test footage earlier - very nice. Your chest piece seems to be sticking before slotting into place, though."

Tony waves a hand. "Still working on the power-to-speed numbers," he replies. "It's bulky as is, but with the external reactor in it, it was flying onto my chest like the Big Guy on a bad day." Bruce shoots him a look that Pepper's given him _many_ times and Tony grins. "Anyway," Tony continues loudly, picking up one of Bruce's many pens to fiddle with, "so I've been toying with a bunch of different variables - slowing the signal-to-reaction time, lowering the mean power output of the chestpiece in general - but I'm still trying to hit that sweet spot. Of course, the easiest solution would be just to keep the arc reactor separate from the armor itself and just insert it post-assembly, but that leaves the question 'what would I do with the reactor when I don't have the suit on?' Would I stuff it in with the rest of the armor, leave it in a safe, carry it in a little man purse with me?" To Bruce's exasperation, Tony sticks the butt end of the pen in his mouth and begins to chew. "Even taking all that into account, what do I do if the chestpiece gets damaged, or someone ganks the reactor? Bye-bye ninety percent of the suit's power."

It's not like stealing or damaging the arc reactor is an automatic death sentence for Tony anymore - he's got the sternum and half a rib cage made of metal in his body to prove it. But the arc reactor is a very sensitive, very _dangerous_ piece of technology that could literally start a nuclear Holocaust if fallen in the wrong hands. In his chest, it was (Tony feels) more protected. It was on display for the world to see, but at the same time locked far away from prying eyes and fingertips ( _Except for Obie's_ , his mind whispers treacherously. Tony's stomach rolls). In the suit, all it takes is one malfunction, one hitch of the armor, and that tech - Tony's crowning achievement, the secret to clean energy, the reason Stark Industries is light years ahead of any other company to date, everything he's ever done as Iron Man - could be the catalyst to World War III.

Tony slips a hand over his sternum, rubbing at the artificial bone, and murmurs, "You know, this was all a hell of a lot easier when the reactor was stuck in my chest."

Bruce had been near-silent through Tony's entire mental monologue, but now he props a hand against his mouth, quiet, considering. Finally, he asks, "Are you okay with being Iron Man again, Tony?"

Tony scoffs. "I _am_ Iron Man," he says haughtily. "With or without the suit."

"But the last time you wore the suit," Bruce gently reminds him, "your house was blown up, you were almost killed, and you were having panic attacks every other night. And Pepper…" Bruce pauses, dropping his gaze momentarily. Bruce has a soft spot for Pepper, enjoys her company, cares for her like the little sister he never had, Tony knows - and who doesn't, honestly? Pepper is a _goddess_ , and all mere mortals tremble in her wake. So it must have been hard for Bruce to watch Pepper struggle with the Extremis virus, to see her body try and break itself down under the strain of it all.

It'd nearly killed Tony to see her like that (badass asskicking aside).

The silence is stretching to uncomfortable lengths, so Tony grinds his teeth harder against the pen, says loftily, "Thought you fell asleep during that story, Brucie-bear." Bruce looks at Tony, and the honesty in his gaze makes Tony want to turn tail and run.

"My point is," Bruce finally says, "it's understandable if you're nervous about putting on the suit."

"Tony Stark doesn't get nervous," he snaps. Bruce immediately drops his gaze - not out of capitulation, but to free Tony of the stress of maintaining eye contact - and Tony lets out a sigh of frustration.

"Genius, billionaire, philanthropist might not be allowed that luxury in the public eye," Bruce says quietly, "but in his own home, I think it's okay to have one or two moments of weakness."

A breath that Tony didn't know he'd been holding suddenly bursts out of his lungs, and Tony hunches over, sinking his face into the cool metal of the countertop. A warm, solid hand reaches out and rests against the back of Tony's neck.

Bruce knows him so well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mother of god school is kicking my bUTT LMAO. "take color theory" i said. "it's just color theory. how much work could i POSSIBLY HAVE TO DO???" i never want to see another paint chip in my li f e OTL
> 
> another quick thanks to my beta gingerpunches. god she's so fantastic. i love you honey <333
> 
> warnings for the chapter include: some semi-graphic violence

Tony stares at his phone.

"Just text them and invite them, Tony," Pepper says, not taking her eyes off the giant stack of papers strewn across the bed. "If you wait any longer, they're gonna make plans."

"Pregnant people will postpone their perilously painful labors to even have a _chance_ of being invited to my birthday party," Tony brags.

"Good thing none of them are pregnant then," Pepper hums, flipping one stack over and moving to the next. "Besides, they're superheroes - it takes a little more than a flashy party to impress them."

"Clint is impressed by me," Tony interjects.

"Clint is on your payroll," she reminds him.

"Pepper, I am-" Tony throws a hand to his chest, " _offended_. I am mortally _wounded_. My parties are the thing of legend - they were _made_ for superheroes."

"Then either invite them," Pepper sings, "or stop staring at your phone like someone kicked Butterfingers down the stairs. Besides," she says, flicking him a look out of the corner of her eyes, "you still have yet to properly wish _me_ a happy birthday."

_Oh_. Pepper's looking at him through her lashes, chin propped on her hand and stacks of folders all around her. Tony, because he can't help himself, blurts, "I got you a great present."

"You got me a _terrible_ present," she reminds him with a smile, "which you then returned to get me a much more appropriate and tasteful gift."

"Right, that's totally the same thing," Tony says airily.

"Is not," Pepper sing-songs, kissing the sensitive spot below his ear. "Send your texts," she murmurs, "and wish me a _happy birthday_ , Tony."

Tony makes a suspicious sound in his throat, then swipes the screen to unlock and sends out three texts. Two responses come immediately, both of which cause Tony to nearly choke on his laughter.

Captain Dorito says, _Should I bring a fruitcake?_

_what the fuck is that even supposed to mean_ , Tony types back. He hesitates, then: _fine sure whatever bring a fruitcake if that makes your little heart go pitter patter_.

_;)_ is the only reply he gets afterwards.

Bird/Sam ?? (Not Hawkeye) has texted him: _Holy shit did Tony Stark just invite me to his birthday party_ , so Tony texts back, _yes he did bring your fun shoes flyboy none of us are gonna remember a thing the next morning_.

The last response comes later, long after Pepper's gone back to work and Tony's buried himself in engineering shit for SI.

_Let me blow something up with your repulsor glove again and you've got a deal. :)_

Tony can't even think of anything clever to say to that, so he settles for a _Deal_ and starts a new schematic for something light and low-powered enough he could smash a piñata with it.

***

" _Retroreflective panels engaged_ ," JARVIS echoes in the helmet of Tony's suit. A special display on his HUD labeled _Stealth_ pops up, flashing in green. " _You may begin your flight test at any time, sir._ "

"Got it, J," Tony tells him. He switches on the comm. "Barton, how's it looking from over there?"

" _Wave your arm?_ " comes the quick reply. Tony complies, and Clint says, " _Okay, now do a little turn._ "

"Shall I curtsy for you, too?" Tony laughs, and there's a weary sigh over the comm link. "JARVIS, lights out," he commands next, and the huge floodlights on Tony's penthouse balcony flash off.

" _It's much harder to catch the reflections off the armor panels in the dark,_ " Clint says immediately. " _The suit's not exactly quiet, but in close quarters you're probably not going to get much out of the stealth mode anyway._ "

"Figured as much," Tony says, though he frowns inside his helmet. If there was a way to streamline the suit to make the joints move with less _clang_ \- 

Clint interrupts him before he can get too far in his head. " _I'm heading upstairs_ ," Barton says then. " _Take off when you're ready._ "

"Don't hurt yourself crawling into my vents, Barton," Tony says, and shoots into the air.

"Please," comes Clint's witty retort, " _like I would pick a place so obvious. I can still see your distrail, and the glow from your boots._ "

Tony shuts off the repulsor power and coasts along through the sky, shooting forward at random intervals, the repulsors kicking on and off in quick, short bursts to give him maneuverability without necessarily giving away his position.

" _Better,_ " Clint says. " _Much harder to pick it out outside the cloud cover. To the untrained eye, they might even look like little stars winking in and out._ "

"And the trained eye?" Tony asks, doing a barrel roll just for kicks. His heart flutters and he laughs at the sudden burst of emotion, dropping down, shooting up, slicing through the altostratus with ease.

There's something wonderfully exhilarating about being in the Iron Man suit again. There's anxiety, of course, just a hint of fear, but it's vastly overshadowed by the pure, raw emotion of what it feels like to put on the suit and go a few rounds, to coast through the air without a care in the world. When Tony's Iron Man, there's a feeling of _rightness_ , of _this is who I'm meant to be_. Tony feels, all at once, so powerful, so humbled.

Tony _is_ Iron Man - and yes, Bruce had been right (he _had_ been worried); but being here now, in the air?

Tony feels like he could do this forever.

" _Eh, well, we'll work on that,_ " Clint promises, and Tony laughs again, kicking on his repulsors and diving, full speed, back down to Avengers Tower. His helmet flips up and Tony takes in a lungful of the brisk night air, his heart pounding a mile a minute, adrenaline bursting through his veins. Tony wants to run a mile, he wants to fly to Mumbai, he wants to do a goddamn _dance_.

_"Don't waste it," Yinsen whispers in his arms. "Don't waste your life."_

Tony's never going to waste his life again.

"Not bad for a man seventeen months out of practice," Tony crows, his voice high and just a little giddy. There's an odd combination of nerves and excitement thrilling through his chest, and he lets JARVIS take the suit apart with all the bells and whistles it deserves. "JARVIS, how'd I look on the sensors?" he asks, switching the comm signal to bluetooth.

"The suit is undetectable by radar with the stealth systems engaged," JARVIS replies.

" _Same for satellite,_ " Bruce chimes into Tony's ear. " _Looks like you're all set for your big birthday reveal next week._ "

" _You don't do anything by halves, do you, Stark?_ " Clint asks with a little huff of a laugh.

"It's my birthday gift to _me_!" Tony proclaims as he heads inside, veering immediately for the bar. "And it was Pepper's idea, I'll have you know."

" _What better time than when everyone's got their eyes on you, anyway?_ " Bruce teases. " _Though I will admit I'm surprised she let you host it at the Stark Expo. What did she call it again? 'Your ego gone crazy'?_ " 

"Hey now, hey now," Tony says, taking a sip of his drink, "I'll have you know that expo is my baby - I rebuilt it from my blood and sweat and tears, and we got a lot of new technology out of it: the Stark HUD 2021, those new security systems we're debuting at my party, and! _And_ ," Tony takes another longer, slower swallow, "Justin Hammer is officially not on the guest list - seeing how, you know, he's in prison and all."

" _That's the guy who made a bunch of killer military suits that went on that murder spree a couple years back, right?_ " Clint asks.

Tony nods around his drink, makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. "Got it in one, Barton. Hey, you coming to the big party, too, or just the after party later with Pepper, Bruce, and the kids?"

" _Who turns down free food, honestly?_ " Then Clint says, " _Hell yeah, I'll totally come, Stark._ "

Tony smiles despite himself, the ice in his tumbler clinking against the sides. "Cool," he says softly, hanging up the call without the usual fanfare. He tilts his head back, drains his glass, and heads back down to the workshop.

***

"What are you two doing looking all buddy-buddy together?" Tony asks suspiciously, standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

"I thought you wanted us to bond, Stark," Clint says sweetly. He bats his lashes. "We're bonding."

"I don't trust a word that comes out of your mouth, Barton," Tony snarks with squinted eyes; he shuffles past the coffee pot clearly labelled _Clint Asshole Barton_ (Tony will never again be able to drink from that carafe) to his smaller, older machine and sets to make a fresh pot, breathing in deep the satisfying smell and promise of caffeine.

"Tony, I've washed that pot like five times," Bruce cuts in through the fog of Tony's sleep-muddled brain; Bruce flashes him his winning sunshine smile. "You _can_ use it - I promise."

"No I can't; Clint's touched it," Tony grumbles back, pouring himself an oversized mug of joe and flopping bonelessly at the table. He grabs his mug with two hands and gives it a little sip. "This one is Clint-cootie-free," he says before dropping his head to the placemat.

"Anyway," Bruce says loudly, obviously not quite ready to deal with Tony's pre-coffee petulance (who ever is though, really?), "we have some stuff to take care of, so we'll be back later tonight."

"Wait, what?" Tony, suddenly _much_ more awake than before, snaps his head up to stare incredulously at Bruce. "Butterscotch, where are you going?"

"Clint needs a suit for your party tomorrow," Bruce explains. "We're going to one your tailors in Malibu to get him fitted."

Tony blinks, nice and slow. He blurts, "Are you guys dumping me? You're dumping me for each other. How could this happen? I thought I was so sexy."

Bruce laughs, drops a hand to Tony's head to give it a scratch. "Bye, Tony. We'll see you tonight," he promises.

"I don't talk to exes," Tony sasses.

"We're taking your plane!" Bruce calls over his shoulder, leading Clint out.

"I never get to keep the kids in the divorce!" Tony yells back.

Tony drains his cup of coffee, grabs another, checks the clock on the wall. It's early, but not too early he couldn't squeeze in a few more hours with the suit before dragging Pepper out of the office for lunch. He finishes his second cup and sets it down on the table with a solid _thunk_.

One more day.

***

Nothing ever seems to go Tony's way.

***

Pepper ends up telling Tony, in no uncertain terms, that the only way she'll be leaving SI today is if the National Guard declares a state of emergency. So it's ultimately Pepper's fault (or, rather, she's the reason for it in a _very_ good, if not ironic, way) that Tony finds himself strolling through Times Square, lunch for him and Pepper in hand, when a giant robot drops into the street right in front of Tony's face.

Fucking _shit_. "JARVIS!" Tony calls, spinning just barely out the way of an armor-sized punch. "Deploy _suit_!"

" _Sir, we have not yet tested the Mark XLV's long-range radio response,_ " JARVIS says into his ear. Three more robots crash down, cannons firing into anything and everything. Tony scrambles behind a car for cover, trying to avoid the first robot's swinging punches. " _I would not recommend-_ "

"Don't care!" Tony shouts. "Or did you miss the _giant robots_ in the middle of the street?" The robot currently after him lifts the car he's crouched behind and Tony hisses, " _Fuck. Now_ , J!"

" _Deploying Mark XLV. This may be a little jarring for you, sir,_ " JARVIS says, almost apologetically, and Tony makes a beeline for an alleyway, biting down his guilt at running away from the terrified screams behind him.

"I'll live," Tony says, gritting his teeth, and throws his arms out just in time for a dozen pieces of high-powered metal to ram into him with the force of a speeding semi-truck.

That's definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

The helmet _shnks_ on last, visor lighting up blue, and Tony barks out a, " _Scan, J_."

" _Right away, sir_ ," JARVIS replies. Streams of data blink in front of his face one after another, and Tony almost has to do a double take.

"Hammer Drones?" he says incredulously. "These are _Hammer Drones_?" They've had a major overhaul since Tony saw them last, then. They're bigger, bulkier, and look more like tanks with legs than the machines Tony saw over two years ago.

" _It would appear so, sir_ ," JARVIS replies as Tony shoots out of the alleyway just in time to barrel head first into the robot chasing him. Tony blasts it back with a repulsor beam. " _Two more drones have just dropped down in Times Square._ "

Fucking _shit fuck_. This is the complete opposite of a good thing. Tony curses, says, "Put Rhodey on the phone." Then, as an afterthought: "Pepper, too."

Pepper picks up first. " _Tony, what the hell-?_ "

"Pepper, I need you to get with Happy and get out of Avengers Tower," Tony orders, shooting the Hammer drone back a few more yards, its feet dragging up the pavement to keep from toppling over. People are screaming all around him. " _Hammer_ just fucking dropped some of his rejects in Times Square."

" _Oh my god,_ " Pepper whispers. " _Tony, are you alright?_ " she asks, and he can already hear her up and moving, calling for Happy, sounding the alarm to evac the Tower.

"I'm okay, I've got the suit with me." Tony shoots up into the air to get a better view. There are five robots currently tearing up Times Square (the sixth shooting missiles up at him), crunched metal flying, people scrambling to get out of harms way. He curses again. "Listen, I know you wanted to wait to do the big reveal, but-"

" _Tony I don't_ care about that!" Pepper shouts into the phone. " _Just- God, don't do anything stupid._ "

"Well, you know me," Tony jokes. Despite his quick maneuvering, one of the robots slams into him and Tony grunts, flipping them around just in time to avoid getting smushed into the pavement. "Just get somewhere safe," he says then. "Hammer isn't your biggest fan either, and I'm not taking any chances."

" _Okay,_ " she whispers. Her voice wavers, and then she says, " _I love you, Tony." She orders, "Don't let them destroy my company_ ," and disconnects the line.

Rhodey finally answers, his voice a questioning, " _Tony?_ "

" _Finally_ , oh my god, _jesus_." Tony rips the head of the drone off and stuffs a grenade in its chest. His repulsor boots kick on to propel him back, but the tail end of the explosion still catches him and slams him into the concrete. "Jesus Christ, what has he been _feeding_ you?" There's a sickening _crunch_ off to his left, voices cut off mid-scream, and Tony has to close his eyes a moment.

Rhodey definitely sounds more alarmed now. " _Tony, what's going on?_ "

There's a woman across the street half under a car, another drone looming over her with its weapons out and locked. Tony shoots at it with a repulsor beam. "Listen, honey, I know you and the kids weren't planning on flying in until tonight, but there is a _very_ big problem I need your help with in Times Square right about now." The Hammer Drone whirls around and shoots a rocket at Tony, who sets off one of his own in a neat little explosion about a half-yard from his head.

" _Shit, hold on, I got another call-_ " Rhodey comes back about five seconds later with a "Hammer Drones _? In Times Square_?"

"Welcome to my life, poo-bear," Tony says breezily, blasting forward and slamming into the robot before it can turn its attention back to the woman on the concrete. "How soon can you and War Machine be here?"

" _Give me twenty minutes,_ " Rhodey promises, and hangs up the phone.

"Yeah, well, I'm holdin' you to that," Tony grunts, blasting back and throwing a missile at the drone. It explodes in a tower of flame and Tony whips around to curl his body around the woman. "Are you alright?" he asks, and then: " _Jesus_."

She tilts her head up at him in a question, then starts and looks down at her arm, or lack thereof. She waves her other arm and blurts, "No, no, no, I'm fine - look-" She rolls back her sleeve to show Tony the smooth skin of her forearm. "I have a prosthesis," she explains. "It got stuck under the car when the robot came at me. Um," She looks hesitant for a second, "would you mind grabbing it for me?"

Tony jerks his face back to the car, lifts the back end of it off the ground. The woman scrambles back under it, fishes her prosthetic limb out, and sits up with a frown. "It's cracked," she sighs sadly.

"I'll make you a new one," Tony says, and shoots back into the battle with a jaunty salute. "Get somewhere safe!" he calls behind him.

Five more robots touch down and Tony curls his fingers into a fist. "Bet you weren't expecting Iron Man, were you?" he calls out, and three of the robots turn to face him. "JARVIS, is there any way I can take these out any faster?"

By this point, police have arrived on the scene and are currently doing their best to evacuate the civilians as quickly as possible. Even amidst the chaos, people have begun to realize that, _holy shit_ , Iron Man is in Times Square, and some are even taking out their cells and snapping pictures as officers drag them out of the line of fire. Television station vans have pulled up a few blocks back and are talking into their obnoxiously oversized microphones.

Well. Tony could think of worse ways to announce _Iron Man's back_.

" _There is a weak spot at the junction where the chest plate connects,_ " JARVIS supplies helpfully. " _A few well-placed missiles could disrupt the drones' receivers without the need to worry about the damage caused by blowing them up_."

"You're a saint, JARVIS!" Tony says, locks the targets, and sends a handful of tiny, but effective bombs out into the drones. Two drones short out and go down immediately, but the third manages to dodge just far enough that the explosion catches it in the arm. The limb makes a half-hitched whirring noise and the robot literally _runs_ at Tony, its other functional arm extended palm out and repulsor blast charging.

" _Comin' in hot on your left_ ," Rhodey shouts in his ear, and sends a rocket into the drone about half a fucking inch from Tony's face.

"Wow, could you cut that a little closer?" Tony laughs, already up and moving for another drone. Rhodey takes his six, blasting through as many robots as he can get his beautiful, bulky War Machine hands on. "I mean, no offense, but that Hammer-abomination was practically begging me to take her back to my place for a tumble in the sheets."

" _Well, you know how I like to arrive fashionably late to the party,_ " Rhodey quips as he takes another drone out.

"Your wingman skills are severely lacking," Tony sasses, disables another robot tearing through a billboard.

" _I'll try and step up my game,_ " Rhodey promises, and another group of Hammer Drones crash down in a semicircle around them. Rhodey whistles. " _Damn. How badly did you piss Hammer off again?_ "

"Me? I haven't talked to the guy since we put him in prison," Tony says, shooting a repulsor beam in an outward arc.

"And _you think he's not still pissed about that_?" Rhodey shoots back, sliding a sheet of bullets in the gash Tony just made in the drones' armor. There's a pause, and then Rhodey asks, " _Tony, how long have you been fighting these guys_?"

"Since I called you, Bubblegum," Tony answers, and takes out another drone on Rhodey's left flank.

" _And they're just-_ " Rhodey busts a fist through a metallic head, " _blowing up shit here? They haven't fanned out, or destroyed anything specific or anything?_ "

"I've been a little busy trying to make sure they don't blow up Manhattan," Tony snips. "What are you getting at, Rhodey?"

" _Well, I mean_ -" They both simultaneously shoot behind the other, taking out two more drones. Rhodey huffs, continues, " _They're controlled remotely, right? But their movements are too random. They're not here for you or they'd be all over us, and if they wanted to deal out the most damage, they'd spread out so we couldn't take them out in such a short period of time_."

"You think they're a distraction," Tony says, realization dawning. "JARVIS!" he suddenly shouts.

" _Calling Ms. Potts, sir,_ " is the immediate reply. Pepper doesn't answer, and Tony's heart fucking _drops_ , but Happy calls him not half a second later, shouting breathlessly, " _Some asshole just blew up our car!_ "

"Happy!" Tony shouts; his voice cracks. "Is Pepper alright-?"

" _I'm okay!_ Pepper shouts in the background; there's a loud crash and a _crunch_ of metal on metal and Tony's saying, "Hang on, _hang on_ I'll be right there-"

Another explosion goes off behind him, and JARVIS says urgently in his ear, " _Sir, that is coming from the direction of-_ "

"Son of a bitch, that bastard's trying to blow up my tower!" Tony snarls.

" _Don't you dare let that man blow up my company, Tony_!" Pepper shrieks; there's another crash of movement on the line, and the sound of gunfire. " _Oh my God!_ "

" _You go after those guys; I'll get Pepper!_ " Rhodey shouts, smashing the last Hammer Drone into the pavement and unloading an entire clip in its chest. Before Tony can argue: " _My suit's not designed for underwater combat - yours is_ ," he explains.

Tony nods, takes off into the sky. " _Don't you dare let anything happen to her_."

" _I'll protect her with my life, Tony,_ " Rhodey swears, and rockets off after Pepper.

There's two drones that look like they've been fitted with the entirety of the US military budget on the defensive when Tony gets to the river, one more still underwater and working at blowing the protective casing of the arc reactor. Tony takes down one easily enough, but the other is giving him the runaround, obviously to buy the underwater one more time. Tony decides _fuck it_ and barrels down into the water, shooting out repulsors from both hands.

The Hammer Drone swivels its head on its joint and launches a _goddamn miniature torpedo_ , and Tony has little choice but to let the damn thing hit him square in the gut so it doesn't careen out into more delicate parts of the city.

" _Power down to sixty-two percent, sir_ ," JARVIS pipes in his ear.

"That's more than enough to beat these bastards to kingdom come," Tony says, low and menacing, and takes the next torpedo and launches it straight into the drone heading for him. It explodes beautifully, sending shrapnel and spare parts outwards, and Tony can finally devote his full attention to the piece of shit currently trying to uproot his tower from the its tender, fleshy underbelly.

"Hey asshole!" Tony calls, voice only slightly distorted by the water; it swivels back to look at him and Tony shoots forward, grabs the drone, drags them both up and back into the air.

Tony takes a perverse sort of pleasure in ripping out this drone's central hardware.

He lands back on ground with a solid _thunk_ and one woman yells, "It's Iron Man!" Suddenly, he's surrounded, and people are cheering, surging forward and trying to shake his hand, touch the armor; one guy's even crying, his face covered in soot and a little baby in his arms.

" _Thank_ you," another man whispers, and Rhodey's caller ID flashes on the screen.

Tony holds up one gauntlet in the universal sign for _one moment_. "Rhodey?" Tony asks, turning slightly away from the crowd. "How's Pepper? Is she okay-?"

" _She's fine, Tony, she's fine-_ " Rhodey's voice is a soothing balm to his grated nerves, but there's something in his tone that he can't quite pin down that sets his teeth on edge-

" _Rhodey, you can't tell him, please, you_ can't-" Pepper's tear-filled voice rings in the background.

"Tell me what?" Tony nods to the crowd and immediately shoots into the sky and towards Rhodey's coordinates, his heart in his goddamn _throat_ -

" _Tony,_ " Rhodey whispers, " _Pepper's_ glowing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaugh I'm so so sorry this took so long to put up - classes had me extra busy this week, and I ended up having to do an entire c project by myself because the other kid in my group dropped the class and didn't tell me 8|  
> ANYWAY. STEVE IS HERE. THAT MEANS SOMETHING RIGHT? THAT MEANS THIS WAS WORTH THE WAIT, RIGHT?? 8'] hope you guys enjoy the chapter - this one's a doozy!!
> 
> warnings this chapter include: alcohol drinking and sadness :'(

They're all back at the (blessedly) undamaged tower, one physician checking the various scrapes and bruises Tony and Rhodey accumulated in the battle, the other calmly cataloguing Pepper's various symptoms. Happy is relatively unharmed, save for a cracked ulna that he's been shuttled to the hospital for. Both the suits are fine, as well, if not scratched and dented all to hell in various places.

"No don't- don't _touch_ me," Pepper hisses, and Tony barks back, "If she tells you not to touch her-"

"Alright, alright." The doctor takes a step back and holds up her hands placatingly. "I just wanted to check your blood pressure - that's all."

"My blood pressure is _fine_ ," Pepper spits, and hugs her arms to her chest, her skin a mottled mess of orange and red light. She sucks in a tight breath through her teeth, lets it out nice and slow. "Just let me relax and I'll be fine."

Rhodey's doing a fine job of staying silent in the background, only speaking to the doctor in clipped yes or no answers, but Tony can't seem to keep his big mouth shut. "Pepper," Tony whispers, scraping a hand through his hair.

"I don't want to talk about it, Tony," Pepper says, and she sounds so tired, so damn _exhausted_ , that Tony has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out the wrong thing. "I just want to get my things and go back to work."

"Pepper, come on," Tony says. "You were attacked, you blew a hole through a giant robot - and come on, how cool is that?" Tony laughs, and feels so very brittle inside. "You're practically a superhero-"

"I don't _want_ to be a superhero, Tony," Pepper snaps, slamming her eyes shut and grinding her teeth against the sudden flare of fire in her arms. "I don't want to blow up giant robots, or put on a super suit, or spend my days and nights running out to God-knows-where beating up bad guys." She sighs, drops her chin down. "I just want to run my company," she whispers. " _Those_ stresses I can deal with."

Tony blinks a few times, suddenly feeling like there are grains of sand pricking at his eyelids. "Pep," he croaks. "I'm- I'm so _sorry_."

"I didn't want you to worry," Pepper whispers back. "I'm mostly fine, this normally doesn't happen-"

"Except when giant robots try to blow you up," Tony says hollowly.

She nods, the motion tight and jerky. Slowly, Pepper's skin begins to clear, and she stands, brushing a singed lock of hair behind her ear. "JARVIS, is there any footage of what happened earlier?"

"Neither the security nor traffic cameras in the area seem to be working properly at the moment," JARVIS says innocently. "And I have no record of any cell phone or remote recordings of any kind that can clearly prove what happened when you and Mr. Hogan were attacked."

Pepper nods again. "Thank you, JARVIS," she says quietly, looking suddenly so small in her fearsome four-inch heels. "Rhodey, can you-?"

"If anyone asks, that blast was from me, Pep," Rhodey says, and Pepper flashes a weary, watery smile his way.

"Thanks Rhodey. I'm… I'm just gonna go to my office," she says, hesitates, then leans over and brushes her lips to Tony's cheek. "I'll see you tonight, Tony."

Tony can't breathe.

Pepper walks out, spine straight, and Tony can't breathe, can't even open his goddamn mouth, and there's glass in his throat and grit in his eyes and all he can think is _I did that, I put that look on Pepper's face_ , like Pepper wants to goddamn die, like she hasn't had a single good night's sleep in four _years_ \- but has she, though? _Has_ Pepper had a decent rest since this whole mess started?

Or has this all just been one giant fuck-up after another in Pepper Potts' life?

A hand settles on Tony's shoulder, slides across his back, and Rhodey wraps Tony up in a warm, solid hug. "It's gonna be okay, man," Rhodey whispers. "Not everyone wants to strap on a big metal suit and fight crime with the big leagues," he teases, giving Tony's arm a little squeeze. "Some people are more than happy to work a nine to five - well, okay, maybe six to midnight in Pepper's case - and come home and not have to worry about crazy scientists or gods from other dimensions fucking up their evening."

"Is that what Pepper wants?" Tony asks, a little numbly, and leans into Rhodey's embrace. 

"I don't know, man," Rhodey answers honestly. "That's something you're gonna have to talk to her about."

Tony's not quite sure he can, honestly.

***

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck happened and why does Times Square look like Thor went to fucking _town_ on it?" Clint asks when he and Bruce arrive back in New York later than night.

Tony, one giant ass mess of purple and blue, hisses a swear at him and goes back to bed.

***

Miranda Tallis receives a package at her doorstep, _special delivery_ stamped on the front, straight from Avengers Tower.

***

The crowd is absolutely _deafening_.

Tickets for the Expo had been selling well before (Tony wasn't kidding about the pregnant people postponing their labor thing - his birthday parties _really_ are that big of a deal), but overnight they'd goddamn _sold out_ , and literally every single square inch of space is filled with people from all over the world, reporters and paparazzi with their cameras at the ready, and, to Tony's intense amusement, even a few military officials who should _really_ still be down at Capitol Hill cleaning up their gigantic HYDRA mess.

" _All clear on our end, boss_ ," one of the techs rumbles in his ear. " _Curtain coming up in three, two, one-_ "

Tony straightens his posture, gives his neck a roll, and pulls on his biggest winning smile as the floodlights snap on, bathing him in an iridescent glow. The mic on his lapel clicks on. Silence falls throughout the auditorium, but the barely concealed energy in the room crackles under his skin, and Tony feels a thrill course through him. 

This is what he was born and bred for, baby.

Tony smiles again, showing off two rows of perfect shining teeth. "A little different than last time, eh?" Tony laughs, and the crowd laughs with him.

It's _powerful_ , how drunk he feels without a drop of liquor in him.

"Well, I had a whole speech planned out," Tony continues, and the quiet murmur in the crowd drops to silence again; Tony smirks. "But it looks like that cat got let out of the bag yesterday when an army of _giant robots_ dropped down in the middle of Times Square."

A woman at the back of the crowd shouts, " _I love you, Tony_!" and a chorus of agreements and similar assertions ripple through the room.

"You flatter me, honestly." Tony laughs again and steps up onto the circular disc at the front of the stage. "But now I'm gonna take a minute to flatter myself." He shouts, and his voice booms through the auditorium like a symphony, " _You all came to wish me a happy birthday, right?_ " The crowd picks up in a thunderous roar. " _You all came here to see science in the making?_ " Tony's skin is vibrating.

" _You all came here to see Iron Man!_ " Tony yells. He throws out his arms and lets the armor, in all it's scuffed and battle-worn glory, slap to his skin as fireworks light the sky.

It's good to be home.

***

"You know, when they told me your birthday was a national holiday at your company, I didn't quite believe them." Steve Rogers sidles up next to Tony, one _very_ gorgeous friend in tow, and gives the man a look of supreme amusement. "I see now they weren't joking," Steve says with a laugh.

"What, don't my employees deserve a day off once in awhile?" Tony asks, all teeth. The party's been in full swing for over an hour now, Tony's had a decent amount to drink, and he feels warm, cozy.

"I think," Steve starts slowly, a hint of a twinkle in his eye, "I would expect nothing less from you, Mr. Stark."

"Now, where was that sense of humor two years ago, Cap?" Tony laughs. "Though I have to admit, I didn't quite expect this type of party to be your thing."

Steve shrugs, the motion easy and fluid. "I haven't been to one of these things since '43," he explains, and gives the floor one long look around. "'Wanted to see what's changed."

"The toys are much, much shinier," Tony divulges.

"That they are," Steve's companion finally speaks up, eyes lit with nothing short of wonder as he takes in the sights. "This place is amazing, man- I mean, sir."

Tony whips his head around to face the other man. "Did he just call me 'sir'?" He doesn't flinch under Tony's sharp gaze, and Tony takes in what he's wearing - the color and cut of the suit - and it clicks into place. "Oh, you're Cap's friend. The flying one. Took down SHIELD like a boss." Tony thrusts out his hand with an easy grin. "Tony Stark - Tony, please, or I'll start feeling like an old man."

He takes Tony's hand in a firm grip, gives it a solid shake. Military then. Tony's curiosity is piqued. "Sam Wilson," he introduces; an earnest smile lights up Sam's face and he gives Tony a sharp nod. "It's an honor - really."

"Good to meet you, Sam," Tony confirms, and he can't help but match the other man's infectious grin. "Good to see you got your suits in one piece, too."

Sam laughs. "It's not one of the weirdest requests I've ever gotten," he says, "though I'm not sure I'll ever be expecting a text saying 'what's your inseam'."

Tony barks out a laugh. He likes this kid. "Come on, that's how I get all the guys," he says easily, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Sam's eyebrows shoot up, considering, and Tony pauses, locks gazes with someone across the exhibit hall. He grabs a drink from the tray of a passing server, downs it with a satisfying gasp. "Investors a-callin', that's my cue," he says by way of apology. He grabs one more glass, sipping it a bit more gingerly this time. Tony twirls a finger in the air. "Clint's hangin' around here somewhere, I'm sure he'll find you." He stalks off with a relatively quick pace, and throws over his shoulder as he leaves, "Make sure you come to my after-party - Barton'll give you the deets!"

Pepper's back at the tower, not quite ready to deal with the crowds just yet, so Tony can sacrifice twelve percent of his party to shmooze and booze.

It's the least he can do for her.

***

Tony's bowtie and jacket have mysteriously disappeared by the time he makes it back to Avengers Tower, but his hair's still relatively unmussed, and he's not so drunk he's said something embarrassing enough to be posted on youtube yet.

Natasha and Clint are on one of the couches talking together in hushed tones, glasses in hand, Steve, Sam, and Rhodey are huddled in the corner, and Bruce is with some of their mutual science buddies yammering on about only god knows what.

"There he is!" Rhodey crows, lifting one hand up in greeting. Tony can already feel the smile slipping on his face. "Come here!"

Tony trots over obediently and Rhodey throws an arm over his shoulder. "Hey man," he says affectionately. "Pepper's in the kitchen. Saw your speech on TV - very classy."

Tony grins, all teeth. "I'm a very classy guy," he says airily. 

Rhodey snorts. 

"What? I am!" Tony laughs. He gestures to Sam and Steve. "Glad to see you making nice with your fellow supers-"

Sam waves a hand, suddenly alarmed. "Oh, I'm not a superhero-"

"Ugh, please, no modesty here," Tony says with a wave of his own. "Tell me, Cap, did my good friend Col. Rhodes salute you first or did you beat him to it?"

"Man, _shut up_ ," Rhodey hisses in his ear, the friendly hug rapidly becoming a chokehold, and Steve just looks at them both like he's trying not to laugh. 

"There was no saluting involved," Rhodey asserts, but Tony can see the dark flush rising on his cheeks and can't help but poke a little more fun.

"There was a little saluting involved," Steve says then, his eyes bright. "But Sam was the first to salute, actually."

"We've worked together on a few occasions," Sam confirms, and Tony turns back to him again, lips pursed and eyes calculating.

"Air force?" he asks, and Sam nods. Tony sucks in a breath of air and snaps his fingers, saying, "Wait, wait, wait - _you_ -" Tony jerks a finger at Sam accusingly. "You were one of the test pilots for the EXO-7. You used my wings to take down HYDRA."

Sam straightens. "I did, sir," he affirms.

Tony nods. "Hell of a job," Tony tells him. He hesitates; then: "I'm sorry to hear about your partner."

"Thank you, sir," Sam says. "You sent a letter of condolence."

Tony tightens his jaw minutely, wishes he could remember sending the letter personally. Pepper'd probably taken care of it. Tony lets out a breath. "Right. Party. We're at a party, shit." Tony slaps a smile on his face, feels it tight around the edges. "The wings got damaged in the fight, right? You can't use them anymore?"

Sam blinks, nice and slow. "Yes…" he starts.

This smile feels a little more real. "Perfect," Tony says, and claps him on the shoulder. "Lemme make you a new pair - just for you, none for the military to get their greedy little hands on-"

"Tony," Rhodey says warningly.

"You don't have to, I'm sure you're very busy-" Sam starts, jaw dropping.

"Let him work!" Clint calls from across the room. "The man never does a damn thing anyway-"

"Who made your new bow, Barton?" Tony barks back and Clint throws his head back and laughs.

"Seriously, man-" Sam tries again, even though he's practically drooling at the thought of personalized Tony Stark tech - and who wouldn't be, honestly?

"They will be so perfect," Tony promises, already running calculations in his head. "Those harnesses were meant to be worn by anyone, but these'll be different - they'll be built _specifically_ for you and-" Shit, Tony has the most _perfect_ idea - "Quick, I need a napkin."

"You are not leaving," Pepper threatens in his ear, "in the middle of your party, Mr. Stark."

"Ms. Potts!" Tony says with a flourish. " _No_ , I'm not leaving - whatever would give you that idea-?"

"Gentleman," Pepper says with a smile. She gives Tony a look and he shuts right up, smiling placidly up at her. Pepper kisses his cheek. "You can play in the lab tomorrow," she promises him, and graciously allows Tony to place his hand at the small of her back.

"Technically, it almost _is_ tomorrow," Tony says.

"You're ridiculous," she sings fondly, pinching his shoulder a little harder than necessary. Tony bites back a grimace. "Cake and presents are in thirty minutes. Rhodey, do _not_ let him go down to the lab or we'll never get him back."

"So mean to me," Tony whimpers. "On my _birthday_."

"Your ego is big enough as is," Pepper says sternly, and then drops her cheek to the top of Tony's head. She gives it a little kiss. "It's my duty to keep your head from getting any bigger - not a word," she warns as Tony opens his mouth to say something dirty.

Tony pouts, pauses, rewinds about thirty seconds. "Wait, presents? Who got me presents?"

Steve gives him a quizzical look. "Don't people normally give you presents on your birthday?" he asks cautiously.

Tony makes a face, not unlike a grimace. "Not really? I mean, Rhodey always gets some cheesy gas station gift-"

"You talk shit, but I _know_ they're all in a line on your dresser, Tones," Rhodey says menacingly, his tone belied by the smile on his face, and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Anyway," Tony continues loudly. "Bruce and I usually do sweet science shit, and Pepper gave me fuzzy slippers one year-"

"Tony is very bad at getting gifts," Pepper finally cuts in. "And giving them. Really, he's just bad with gifts in general."

"I am _not_!" Tony gasps with mock indignation. "I only tried to give you strawberries _once_ -"

"Tony, I could have _died_ ," Pepper tells him. "And those slippers I gave you? You wouldn't even _touch_ them the first week you had them-"

"I didn't want to get them dirty!" Tony defends.

"Tony,” Pepper says. “Half your clothes are permanently stained with motor oil and they go on your _feet_ , of course they're going to get _dirty_ -"

"I got you coffee," Sam offers, raising one hand up in the air and Pepper snorts, throwing her own arms up in the air with an exasperated smile.

"I like you," Tony decides. "I'm definitely making you a new set of wings." He looks back to Steve, who is suddenly looking much more embarrassed than before. "You got me something, too, didn't you?" Tony feels a little flutter in his cold, dead heart. "C'mon, Cap, what'd you get me?" he asks teasingly.

Steve pulls himself up straight and gives Tony a smile he's seen in all the old newsreels a million times before - sarcastic and shit-eating, a grin that says _wouldn't you like to know_? "Guess you'll just have to wait and see," Steve says mysteriously, "in twenty minutes, after cake."

Tony has never wanted cake so badly in his life.

***

The cake is a goddamn monster.

"You went to my bakery," Tony says numbly and stares down at the despicably gaudy decorations he knows Clint probably bullied Bruce into getting, knowing there's vanilla and peaches beneath the hideous frosting, because what else would Bruce get him but his favorite cake from his favorite bakery? Before he can stop himself, he blurts, "This is why I had to fight like, twenty robots by myself yesterday?"

" _By himself_ ," Rhodey harrumphs behind them.

"You seemed to have everything under control when we got back," Bruce says graciously, though there's a tiny note of hurt in his voice, and Tony _hates_ ( _absolutely hates_ ) that he can never just say _thank you_.

"Thank you, Bruce," Tony whispers, so quietly, and gives Bruce the first piece of cake.

The coffee from Sam is a strong and bitter blend he's had a handful of times before and he does a better job of just saying _thank you_ instead of spewing a bunch of barbed insults to mask his awkwardness at this part of the night. Clint, Natasha, and the others (thankfully) don't get him anything, but when Tony pulls a carefully wrapped fruitcake out of a colorful metal tin and he can't _help_ himself, he fucking says, "What the fuck, Rogers?" and laughs for nearly a full minute. "This is amazing, tell me it's not your grandma's special fruitcake from the forties, I don't think I could _handle it_."

"I bought it from the store," Steve says, slowly, like Tony's a small infant child. "Like a _normal_ person."

"Where's the boring old fuddy-duddy who didn't know what pilates was?" Tony asks with a laugh. "I miss him - bring him back. You bought me a goddamn _fruitcake_."

"It started out as a joke," Steve admits with a wry grin. "But then you sounded so excited, I didn't want to disappoint."

"Amazing," Tony says, awestruck. "I'm framing it and putting in on my wall."

"Do _not_ take down the Jackson Pollock," Pepper says warningly, and picks up her glass of wine. She says to the group, "I want to thank you all for coming tonight. I know coming out on a Thursday night isn't everyone's idea of a good time, especially when some of us," and she shoots Tony a smirk, "have to work the next day." A ball of laughter rumbles through the group.

Pepper smiles. "I have known Tony for a very long time,” she says. “He's a handful, yes, but he accepts nothing less than the very best, of himself, and of everyone he knows. He's always owned up to his mistakes, always sought to fix whatever wrong he saw in the world, and given his all, for his company-" Her smile softens, "-and his world." Pepper lifts her glass, and the others follow suit. "You are… _infuriating_ as a boss," Another ripple of laughter, "but you are a good man. Happy Birthday, Mr. Stark."

A handful of resounding _happy birthday_ 's course through the room, and Pepper lifts her glass to take a drink.

Her arm is trembling.

She grabs Tony aside a little later, when everyone's had a little more to drink, and the atmosphere is quieter, cozier. She pulls something from behind her back, presenting it to Tony without preamble.

It's a box, small enough that it fits easily in one hand, and Tony's throat closes up. He drags her out of the common area, out the door and onto the balcony into the cool night air.

Pepper looks at him, questioning, and her face is so tight without the others around, like she's about to break into two, and Tony grits his teeth, his throat filled with ground glass. "You're not happy, are you Pep?" he whispers.

Pepper blinks, stuttering a moment. " _What_?" she finally asks.

Tony takes a deep, shuddering breath. He wants to hold her, but her body is closed off: arms crossed, knees locked, as if she's a brittle twig in the middle of winter about to snap from cold. "Pepper-" he starts.

"Tony, what-?" her voice cracks, and her eyes are wide and bright. "What makes you think I'm not happy?" 

Tony hates eye contact, hates it for the emotional connection it fabricates, hates it for the knotted, rolling feeling it always leaves in his gut, but he makes himself do it anyway, forces himself to keep Pepper's gaze.

"Are you?" he asks. 

Pepper closes her eyes, and there's Tony's answer. All his breath leaves him like a punch to the gut. "Tony," she whispers. "I'm so tired." She presses her lips together in a tight, fine line, and she says, her voice a quiet confession, "I've been trying so hard, I-" She swallows. "I'm okay with people coming after me from the other side of a boardroom, and I can handle people trying to swindle my own company from under my feet because they think 'a pretty woman like me shouldn't have to work so hard'. And I can handle making sure you do your job, and making sure the press don't lampoon you for getting drunk and streaking down the block for shits and giggles."

Tony can't take it anymore - he surges forward and wraps her up in his arms, and Pepper makes a small noise in the back of her throat, drops her head to the crook of his neck. "It scares me so much when you put on the suit," she confesses, "but it scares me more when you don't. Tony, what if you hadn't had the suit when you were attacked yesterday? What if it hadn't responded fast enough? What if-"

Tony pets a hand across her hair. It's hard to forget that perfect Pepper Potts isn't actually immortal, that she's a real human being with thoughts and needs and emotions of her own, and _Tony_...

Tony hasn't been doing a very good job for her these past few years.

She gives (to him, to the company, to everyone around her) and all Tony does is _take_. She's shouldered his issues, his fuck-ups; she's run the company and still made time for him despite sixteen hour days and then some. She's suffered through the fucking Extremis virus for two years and Tony _didn't even notice_.

God, no wonder she's tired. She deserves so much _better_.

"Pep," he says then. She looks up at him, mascara slightly smeared, and he cradles her face in his hands. "Do you still want to do this?"

Her face crumples. "No," she shakily admits. She shuts her eyes again and her jaw begins to tremble. "Tony, I'm so s-"

Tony presses their foreheads together. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he assures her, soft and soothing. They've had breaks before, but there's something solid in this conversation, something that wasn't in their other talks of time and breathing space.

Tony's jaw aches with emotion. He loves Pepper so, so much, but maybe it's more platonic than romantic, and maybe this has been a long time coming. "Love you, Pep," he tells her, because she _needs to know_ that, if nothing else, Tony cares about her. "You are gonna find someone so awesome who knows when to leave you alone and when to take you to dinner, who _never_ tries to give you giant stuffed animals or strawberries and-"

Pepper huffs a little wet laugh. "Unbelievable, you're unbelievable," she murmurs, rubbing their temples together. "Tony, I-"

"Take the night off, Ms. Potts," Tony tells her softly, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek that begs _please_. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

"You will not," she murmurs fondly. "You're gonna hole up in your workshop and work on Sam Wilson's wings for the next _week and a half_ -" and Tony's already laughing, even if it feels like his sternum is cracking.

They've had a good run, certainly.

"Take the day off," Tony blurts. "Take a week if you need to. You're due some vacation days."

Pepper snorts. "Stark Industries would fall apart without me."

"Such little faith in my company," Tony grumbles, but it's good-natured, and Pepper finally stands, smooths down her fancy skirt she's worn a million times before because Tony's told her she looks cute in it-

Pepper breaks him out of his mind by brushing her lips against the edge of his goatee. "Keep the present," she whispers as she pulls back. Her eyes are still wet and tired, but she looks lighter, looks almost like she's lost a metric ton of the weight that's standing on her shoulders. "Put it on your nightstand, if nothing else."

Pepper walks out, heels clicking along the floor, and Tony sits down on the cold concrete, braces his back against the frigid glass.

Rhodey hones in on his scent faster than he'd like.

"Tony?" he calls, poking his head out the door. "Tony, Pepper just left, is everything okay-?"

Tony lifts his head, takes one look at him, and Rhodey is immediately at his side, saying, " _Holy shit_." He drops himself down at Tony's side and wraps the man up in his arms, and Tony holds on tight, fingertips trembling in Rhodey's suit jacket.

"You should go after Pepper," he rasps, and Rhodey shakes his head. "She needs-"

"Nah, man," Rhodey says. "I'll see Pepper tomorrow. You and I? We need another drink."

Tony nods, shuts his eyes tight. "Would you-?" he whispers, voice hitching.

"I'll send the geeks home and your friends to bed," Rhodey promises, helps his best friend stand on shaky legs. "Go ahead and take the side elevator to your floor - I'll be up in a jiff."

***

It's a watch, custom-made in red and gold and chrome, with an inscription on the back that says _You're worth more than you think you are_.

Tony nearly vomits from his hangover, and sets the watch in the box in the corner of his drawer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hey it's okay. you can take 3 studio classes and a programming class you'll be _fine. no worries._ w r o n g.
> 
> i'm so sorry it took me this long to put up a new chapter, but i honestly couldn't even think about writing/editing between classes, moving, and inquisition coming out lmao. to make it up to you guys, watch out in the next few days for another chapter <3 <3 <3 thanks for being so patient everyone (and give gingerpunches a big ol' smooch for me for continuing to be the best beta ever <3)

Tony staggers into the kitchen the next morning, feeling (and almost certainly looking) like death chewed him up and spat him into an acid bath. Sam, Steve, and Natasha are already at the table, talking about shit Tony _really_ doesn't listen to or care about because there is no coffee in him and he's fairly sure he died sometime last night.

He shuffles past them without so much a word, and Natasha says to his back, a little teasing, "Rough night, Stark?"

Tony outright _growls_ , stares at the machine as it drips any hope of cognizance for him today into the clear carafe. She doesn't know, and it's not her fault that she doesn't, but it still stings, and he still isn't feeling very charitable at the moment. He doesn't even bother with a mug today - whatever, if Clint can drink out of his coffee pot, so can he. An unspeakable amount of sugar makes its way into the carafe, followed by some weird refrigerated creamer Clint bought the other day, and then Tony drags himself to the table and falls into an empty chair, sipping gingerly from the lip of the pot.

He must do something weird, though, because the second he sits down, Natasha's eyes widen, Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth, and Sam gives a low whistle and whispers, "Holy shit, dude."

Tony squints, touches his face. "Did Rhodey draw a dick on me while I was sleeping?" he asks. "Is there something in my hair?"

Natasha flicks her gaze down to his chest and back, and Tony looks down and _oh_.

He's still wearing his clothes from the party last night, but he'd unbuttoned his dress shirt sometime after he and Rhodey went upstairs, and peeking out over his tank top is a distressing myriad of mottled black and blue. Bruises litter up and down his torso, his back, his _arms_. They're almost everywhere, actually, but no one had seen them when he was all dressed up, so yeah.

Tony can see why this would be a shock.

He waves a hand lazily, takes another sip of coffee. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he insists. "Unlike _some people_ , I was actually around for the big robot attack 'day before yesterday."

Steve and Sam have the decency to look abashed, but Natasha gives a neat little shrug and says, "Well, you didn't call."

Tony laughs, and it _hurts_ , but goddamn it, he likes her sass. "I'll try and do better next time," he says drily, and Natasha nods with a small smile before getting up and rummaging around in the cupboards. She returns a minute later with a tall, opaque cup, and says, "Here - for you. It's a hangover cure. Very old. Very Russian."

That sounds fantastic right about now, to be honest. He takes the cup and downs it without even looking to see what it is, and regrets it immediately when he almost spits an entire mouthful of vodka on the floor. " _Natasha_ ," he says when he can breathe again, scandalized.

Natasha pinches her lips to hide her smile. "Thought you'd appreciate the irony," she says, flashing a bit of teeth, and Tony sputters again.

He pours the rest of the cup into his coffee anyway. "You're evil," he tells her. "Evil and vicious."

"I know," she says with a grin, and pulls a tall bottle of clear Russian vodka from only god knows where and pours it into her own mug. She offers some to Sam and Steve, who decline.

"Seriously, though," Sam says, his eyebrows raised to an alarming height, "are you okay? You got all that from fighting in your armor?"

Tony shakes his head. "Most of it's from the suit deployment. It, ah... had to fly a few blocks, and I hadn't worked out the long-distance assembly kinks yet, so-" Tony gestures to the gothic rainbow on his sternum, "-Hulk punches."

"You should probably go to a doctor about that, Stark," Steve says, looking more and more concerned by the minute. "Those bruises look pretty bad. What if you cracked your ribs?"

Tony grins, knocks on one of the few clear patches of skin on his upper chest. "Not much is gonna break this, I'm afraid," he divulges. "I had them put in a titanium alloy to reinforce the bone when they replaced my sternum. I mean, you could probably break them with enough force, but." Tony shrugs. "Bruce has an x-ray. I'm fine."

Steve is still looking at him like Tony could break apart at any minute. "I'm sorry, replaced your _sternum_?" he asks. "What happened?"

"Come on, Cap, I know you're not all brawns up there," Tony says with a laugh; he waves a flourishing hand at his glow-free chest. "I got the arc reactor removed. That was what was holding my chest together, so I needed bone grafts to replace the missing parts."

Steve should really get his eyes checked, the way he's looking at Tony - or his chest, rather. "How much of that was supporting you internally?" he asks quietly.

Tony looks at his own palm, splays his fingers out wide. He touches his palm to his chest and tilts his head, considering. Then he says, "Eighty percent of the sternum and three of the connecting ribs on each side?"

"Damn dude," Sam whispers; he must decide he wants that drink after all, because he grabs the bottle of vodka and pours a shot into his coffee cup. "That's _rough_."

Tony opens his mouth to say something sharp and witty to diffuse the tension, but his stomach picks that moment to let out a very loud and _very_ embarrassing gurgle. Tony blinks and looks down at his gut like it's betrayed him.

Sam is already standing. "I can totally make breakfast," he offers, turning on his heel and moving towards the fridge. "You like breakfast?"

Steve and Natasha both share a wide grin. "He makes very good breakfast," Natasha confirms.

"Yeah, sure," Tony says numbly. "Breakfast."

Sam gets to work, humming a little jingle under his breath, and Tony lets himself stay, lets himself curl his fingers around his coffee.

It feels nice. Being here, in a kitchen bustling with friendly energy, an easy flow of conversation, and the smell of good food wafting through the air.

Tony wonders if this is what it's like: to be part of a family that talks to each other and eats breakfast and doesn't send him off to boarding school when he's barely old enough to talk.

Bruce picks that moment to enter the kitchen, though he does falter when he sees the man they met yesterday battling with Tony's never-before-used waffle iron on the counter. He looks like he wants to ask, but then he sees Tony and decides Tony is more deserving of his attention, because he strides over in three quick steps and wraps his arms around Tony's shoulders, hunching over to drop his cheek on Tony's hair.

Tony blusters, but it's mostly for show, so he leans back into Bruce's embrace and lets himself wallow in his misery for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Bruce whispers, and Tony whispers back, "I'm not. This is better for her."

"For you, too," Bruce insists stubbornly. Damn the man for thinking of Tony's welfare. "Rhodey?" Bruce asks then.

"He's hanging out with Pepper today," Tony answers, and lets out a bone weary sigh.

Steve looks slightly confused, but one look from Natasha stops him from asking, and for that Tony is grateful. Maybe she does know after all, what with her creepy super spy network that for some reason cares about his busted up personal relationships with the human population at large.

"So," Bruce says when they've all settled in (Sam's breakfast is every inch as amazing as promised). "What have you all been up to the past two months?"

Right. Shit, that should be a question for Tony to ask. He's a terrible host. He should take a class (he's not going to take a class). But after the first bite of waffle, he doesn't care anymore because _waffles_.

Natasha answers first, sucking thoughtfully on her spoon. "Went some places. Got a new identity. Took down some HYDRA bases."

"All a normal Friday for you, I'm sure," Sam answers with a little grin and she bats her pretty lashes at him.

"Sam and I," Steve says quietly in the lull, scratching at his eggs with a fork, “we've ah, been looking for a friend of mine. We lost track of him after SHIELD went down."

_Oh_. Well, shit. As bad as Tony is at normal conversation, he's even worse at topics like these. "Was he on one of the Helicarriers?" he asks, unconsciously mimicking Steve's actions with his own eggs. The table's gone quiet all around him again.

Steve shakes his head. "Nah, he pulled me out of the river when I fell in," he says. "He's alive, I just- I don't know where he could be."

Tony drums his fingers against his fork, a little tell of agitation. "Well, ah." Tony clears his throat, makes a decision. "Gimme his name. JARVIS can do some preliminary sweeps, see if any of his information - IDs, facial recognition, credit cards - has pinged anywhere in the last couple of weeks."

Steve makes a noise of disagreement. "No, none of that stuff would show up anyway; he doesn't have anything."

Tony blows a pocket out of air out of his lips. "Oh, everyone has a paper trail. _Natasha_ has a paper trail, fake as it is. It's a start, at least, so-"

"No, I-" Steve gives a little laugh, but it's not humorous; it's a little sad, actually. "He was being experimented on and used by HYDRA. There's literally _no_ paper trail for him - 's kinda the point." He shrugs awkwardly.

"The Winter Soldier," Bruce pipes up then in realization (Bruce has probably read the leaked SHIELD reports as thoroughly as Tony has by now), and of course it is. Of _course_ it fucking is.

But it's a start, and Tony can build a bomb out of scraps in the middle of a cave in the desert. "Barnes," Tony says then, shoving his plate to the side automatically because it's no longer as interesting as the problem in front of him, because he really has seen _all_ the old newsreels. "See, I can work with that. JARVIS - bring up the latests 3D scans, filename _J.B. Barnes_ and start doing a traffic/security cam sweep from here to D.C. ahhh- April first through today. Expand the search radius if nothing comes up."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS replies. "I will alert you when one of your search parameters has been met."

Natasha is sipping from her cup like she expected this to happen, quiet and pleased, but Steve and Sam are looking at him like he's grown a pair of horns or a weird wart on his chin or something. Bruce is is just flicking through his tablet like shit like this happens everyday (which it kind of does, to be honest; Bruce is so utterly used to him by this point - it's almost not fair).

"You don't have to, really-" Steve is saying and Sam smacks him on the shoulder and says, "The billionaire - you're gonna tell the genius _billionaire_ with the infinite amount of resources you don't want his help?"

"Speaking of genius," Tony interrupts with a little grin, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “What do you kids have planned today - nothing that can't be postponed, I hope?"

Steve at least seems to have regained his footing for the moment, because he says, "Who are you calling a kid? I'm like fifty years older than you."

"Not important," Tony says; he jabs a finger at Sam. "You - you're not doing anything today. I need you to come down to the gym for scans and a physical." Sam looks at Tony, mouth comically full of waffle, and Tony says, one eyebrow raised, "Wings? For you? Wings with which to fly in the air and fight crime?" Tony presses his middle and ring finger to his palm, careful to keep his pinky, pointer, and thumb extended, and sails his hand through the air, making little airplane noises as it arcs towards Sam.

"You're serious," Sam says.

"Serious as Barton about to drag his ass in here and put his diseased bird mouth on my coffee pot," Tony replies, and, sure enough, Clint crawls in a little later and makes a beeline for the machine, tired and hungover as hell.

Which prompts Steve to ask, "Why _does_ he have his own coffee pot?", Clint to flip them all the bird, and Bruce to duck out of the kitchen with the excuse ' _if the testosterone level in this room rises any more I_ am _going to Hulk-out_.

Sam is alarmed.

Tony loves Bruce.

***

Two hours later, Sam is seriously reconsidering Tony's offer of a new EXO harness.

It wasn't the scans - those were completely fine, non-invasive. All Sam had to do was stand and let his AI run its sensors over him. However, when Stark had said 'physical', he hadn't quite known the man actually meant 'fight these superspies until you're pretty sure your _goddamn legs are about to fall off_ '.

"Stop fuckin' around, Clint," Tony calls suddenly, causing Sam to nearly lose his footing as he fails to block a particularly vicious punch from Barton. The hologram he's working on shifts in a scatter of magnified points as Tony abruptly zooms in. "I need combat data for Sam - not your dance skills."

"Yeah? Fuck you, too, Stark," Clint laughs, and Sam takes the opportunity to throw a few punches in and under Clint's elbows. Clint whirls his focus back to him, face like a shark, and throws his arm out in a block. Sam grunts and goes to kick Clint's legs out from under him, but Clint rolls his body, flipping back and out of range.

Tony, surrounded in a halo of arc reactor blue, barks out, " _Still not getting accurate data_."

Sam lets out a gust of air, brushes sweat from his face with the back of his arm. "Did you have to go through this, too?" he asks Clint and ducks a sudden fast punch.

"Nope," Clint says cheekily, his fist glancing off Sam's shoulder as Sam suddenly lands a blow to the underside of Clint’s upper arm; Sam takes his freshly gotten opportunity to throw a few punches to Clint's torso. Clint goes for an uppercut and Sam elbows the archer's arm harmlessly to the side.

"I already know how Clint fights!" Tony shouts. "I need to know how _you_ fight."

"You're not even watching!" Sam says, windmills as Clint suddenly rears back and plants a foot on his chest. Sam grabs his foot, steadying himself and twirling Clint in a half-circle. He lands on Clint before he can get his footing back, presses his forearm just below Clint's throat. Clint yields with a sour look, and Sam shouts to Tony, "Were you even watching that?"

"JARVIS!" Tony calls and a hologram of their fight appears just on the edge of the ring. Sam huffs out a breath in acquiescence and waves a hand at Tony. "Thank you, JARVIS," Tony says with a grin.

"Wow, I'm really slow," Clint remarks as Sam helps him back up, frowning at the footage.

"Better get back into practice then, or you're gonna lose your edge," Natasha remarks with a grin, leaning heavily on the boxing ring ropes.

Clint rolls his eyes. "I was _injured_ , remember?"

Natasha scoffs. "I fought Chitauri aliens with a busted ankle," she retorts. "You can do better."

"Okay, Cap, your turn," Tony says and Sam makes a noise of genuine distress as he falls back bonelessly against the ropes. "C'mon, last test - less boxing this time, more reflexes and agility."

Steve enters the ring with an apologetic grin, holding the ropes apart for Clint to slither out of. "Should I go easy on you?" he teases.

"I will _break_ your iPod," Sam snaps.

In his makeshift work area in the corner, Tony's got about three different screens up, one hand scrolling through the footage of Sam's matches with Clint and Natasha, the other tweaking bits and pieces of the new EXO-8.

"Nice gym," Natasha says by way of greeting. She perches herself on the edge of the worktable, eyes darting over Tony's work. She's showered since she and Sam had their little shadowmatch, her hair a mess of tiny waves and curls.

Tony shrugs. "Needed something to keep the infrastructure sound," he says flippantly. "Figured a Hulk-proof training area might as well do the trick."

"Right, because the reinforced punching bags on the other side of the track are _totally_ for Bruce," Natasha shoots back, a small smile curling over her lips. "Don't worry, Stark - your secret's safe with me."

Tony makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and turns back to the schematics, flipping them around to run a simulation on the wing malleability.

Natasha quietly watches him work from her spot on the table, and for a minute Tony pretends it's Natalie watching him work like she had when she worked for him, the easy camaraderie they'd had (Tony's shameful leering aside) settling around them like a comfortable buzz in the back of his mind.

Eventually she says, "You know, the Winter Soldier-"

"Yeah," Tony says, voice clipped, and just like that the moment's gone, and Tony feels a slight chill in the air.

Natasha looks at him, but her gaze is so carefully blank that Tony has no idea of what she's really thinking. Sometimes he can get an inkling of what's going behind those bright green eyes, but Tony might as well be looking at a wall right now for all he sees. It pisses him off, to be honest. "Is that why you're offering to help find Barnes?" Natasha asks quietly. "To get revenge for him killing your parents?"

"Of course not," Tony snaps; his fingers tighten around a sensitive piece of the hologram and Tony has to force himself to release it before it disintegrates. "Is that the kind of person you think I am?" Tony asks, and it burns like bile in the back of his throat to ask.

Natasha shakes her head. "No," she says confidently. "I don't. But I wanted to be sure." She draws one knee up to lean her cheek on and she gives him a soft, almost friendly look. "You are capable of many things, but petty revenge is not on that list."

"Well." Tony shifts uncomfortably, turning back to run another simulation. "Good," he says gruffly.

"They're not the same man," Natasha blurts abruptly. "Barnes and the Winter Soldier. You've seen the footage, read the files-" Natasha shakes her head, teeth worrying at her lower lip. "But you weren't there - you didn't see him. He was tortured. You don't know what it's like," she finishes in a whisper.

"I am- familiar with torture," Tony says lowly, deliberately does not change his breathing, does not lift his hand to his chest. "You've read my file," Tony continues, though he knows his file isn't as… accurate as it should be.

Natasha looks back up at him again, her eyes filled not with pity, but something more intimate - empathy, maybe. She probably knows his file's left some things out, as well. She nods slowly. "Not like this," Natasha whispers, finally shutting her eyes. "They tortured him for years. Experimented on him. Used him."

Tony's eyes feel very dry all of a sudden.

"Do you know what it's like to be unmade, Tony?" Natasha asks.

Tony can't look at her. He's not sure he knows the answer, himself. Finally, "I know what it's like to be remade," he says.

"I hope you never have to experience the other," Natasha says quietly, turning back just in time to see Steve pin Sam to the mat with a laugh.

"That's all I need for now!" Tony calls, his throat dry and itchy for some reason. Natasha stands, gives him a consoling squeeze on his shoulder, and Tony has to clear his throat. "Thanks guys," he says to the group at large, and he starts heading to the elevator so fast that if this were any other situation, it'd be hilarious. "Sam, I'll give you a call when your wings are ready for flight tests," he calls over his shoulder as the elevator door slides shut. He grinds the heel of his palm into his eyelid. He wishes Pepper were here.

Tony really needs to be alone right now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;w; get ready for some rhodeyyyyy

"Tony! Absolute pleasure - take a seat, why don't you?"

Tony stands at the other end of the table, hands clenched into fists behind his back. "I think I'll stand, thank you," he says, jaw aching against the bland smile he's pasted on his face.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Hammer says, sweet as pie. It makes Tony's teeth itch. "Sorry I missed your party - they're always… such a _blast_."

Hammer smiles pleasantly then, as if Tony's come to chat about the weather. Prison has been neither kind nor unkind to him, but he and Tony both know the blue jumpsuit he's wearing isn't just a fashion statement. You don't have to be the top dog around here to get respect, just someone valuable to the other inmates, something you can use to bargain with.

Like weapons materials. Money. Connections. Even without Hammer Industries, Hammer's still got a lot of those.

"Heard about your daring save the other day," Justin continues then, airy and light. A shadow from the cell window twists his grin into something sharper. "You dog - I didn't know you'd rebuilt the Iron Man suit."

Tony is familiar with this kind of banter - this, he is very, _very_ good at. "I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?" Tony asks. "I'd've brought your bots back to you, but they all got a little smashed to pieces."

"That's funny," he says with a laugh, "how you expect me to admit to a crime I haven't committed." Hammer studies his nails, tilts his head. "Though if I _were_ going to make any sort of statement to the effect," he continues lightly, "I would say it's so _good_ that Pepper's okay after all that mess. Poor thing - she's been through so much."

Tony slams his fist on the table, and it startles Hammer, but then he only laughs at Tony. "I don't want to hear another damn word out of your mouth about Pepper," Tony seethes. "You're not fit to lick the dirt from her heels."

"From what I hear," Hammer's still not looking at him directly, and usually Tony doesn't care about that shit, but right now it _infuriates_ him, "neither are you anymore." Finally, he catches Tony's gaze and bats his little eyelashes. "What's wrong, Tony? She couldn't handle your… eccentricities anymore?"

It sounds vile when it comes from Hammer's mouth like that.

"I'm gonna lay it out for you straight, Hammer," Tony says, spreads his palms out on the metal table, leans dangerously close into Justin's space. "Stay away from me from now on. Stay away from Pepper. Stay away from pretty much everyone, actually," Tony tacks on, "or you're going to regret it."

"Is that a threat?" Justin asks, teeth bared.

"Of _course_ not," Tony says magnanimously. "Why would I threaten you, Justin? You mean nothing to me." Tony shrugs, lets himself take a long look around Justin Hammer's cell.

It's far too good for him. After everything he's done, anything is.

"I'm just saying that the last two people who threatened Pepper-" And now Tony lets himself smile, his perfect paparazzi persona that's just for show, "-well, they didn't actually live too long after to regret it."

Still, Hammer happily shoots a, "Have a great day, Tony," to Tony's back as he stalks out of the room.

It makes his damn skin crawl.

Rhodey's standing at the other end of the hall waiting for him when Tony gets out, posture perfect. Tony nods and then they turn on their heels, begin the long walk out of Seagate. They go through gate after gate, passing security checkpoints, stopping every time the damn implants in his chest set off the metal detectors.

Rhodey just waits patiently, his eyes trained on the walls, the windows, the various prisoners in their cells. He doesn't shrink away from their vicious glares or threats, just meets them with the calm indifference of a man who's been trained not to react emotionally in the face of adversity.

Tony's a little envious of that trait, if he's honest. Rhodey's always been like a cool balm for him, like an ointment that fills in all his broken, blistered cracks and edges, all the little jagged pieces he never lets other people reach. Tony wonder if he takes advantage of Rhodey's kindness, sometimes (he does). He wonders if he'd be able to do the same for Rhodey if he needed Tony to step up to plate (he's not sure, and it smarts to admit it).

"You're pretty quiet, man," Rhodey mentions when they finish with the last of the metal detectors along the main corridor. "What's goin' on in that head a' yours?"

He doesn't answer at first, the words rolling around in his mouth like iron and battery acid bombs. "You still got that friend in Justice?" Tony asks eventually, eyes like steel.

"I do," Rhodey replies. "You want me to make a call?"

_"You are capable of many things,"_ Natasha whispers in his ear, _"but petty revenge is not on that list."_

Tony lets out a frustrated sigh, rakes a hand through his hair. "Just- have them keep an eye on him," he grumbles. "I don't trust him."

Rhodey reaches over, grabs Tony's shoulder in a firm squeeze. "C'mon, man," he says, pulling Tony into a half hug. "Let's go get a pizza - my treat."

Tony snorts, ducks his head in the crook of Rhodey's neck for half a beat. "You're ridiculous, Rhodey-bear," Tony murmurs. "I could literally buy fifty pizza chains and create a giant, cheesy monument to my greatness."

"I know," Rhodey says with a small smile. "Let me buy it anyway."

They're buzzed out, collect their belongings, and Tony and Rhodey step out into the warm June sun. Tony takes a deep breath.

"Thanks, Rhodey," he whispers.

"Anytime, man," Rhodey replies, and grabs Tony's head to give him a noogie.

***

"Sir, I have discovered another recording of Sgt. Barnes," JARVIS pipes up suddenly; Tony looks up from his work. "Three seconds long, departing the 3 at Franklin Avenue - Fulton Street. He disappears from the security footage after that instance."

Tony hums, switches off the blowtorch in his hand. The EXO-8 harness is pretty much ready for flight testing, mechanically-speaking - he's just nitpicking at this point. But he can't stop going back to Riley Connolly - the other paratrooper who'd worn his wings, who'd been blown out of the sky like he might as well have been wearing a goddamn target on his back. These wings need to be faster, more maneuverable, harder to pick out in the middle of a firefight. What Tony really wants to do is stick an arsenal of rockets on it, but that's not possible, not without just outright making a suit for Sam, and he's pretty sure Sam doesn't want that.

God, his head is killing him.

"He's good, I'll give him that," Tony eventually says. "Three clips in a six week period - what's the timestamp on the latest clip?"

"0913, May 28," JARVIS recites and Tony curses.

"Damn it, that's still two weeks ago," Tony hisses, ripping the helmet off his head and tossing it to the side. He sets the torch aside and throws his gloves off, too, just for good measure. "Anything after that?"

"Nothing as of yet, I'm afraid. I will continue to monitor any and all footage I can gain access to," JARVIS says helpfully. "Shall I expand the search parameters?"

Tony sighs, waves a hand in the air. "Sure, why the hell not - go another fifty miles outside of the the grid we laid down, but keep the priority on Brooklyn. He and Cap grew up there; maybe he's looking for some kind of connection or memory or something." Tony growls and drags a hand through his hair. "You know this would be a lot easier if he hadn't been trained to be a ghost spy for like, seventy-fucking-years," he grumbles.

"Perhaps we should give the Sergeant a stern talking to when we locate him," JARVIS drily suggests, and Tony lets out a sudden bark of laughter. "Shall I forward the latest footage to Captain Rogers?"

Tony blows out a puff of air as he leans back against the worktable; he picks at one of the scabs from a previous welding burn and says, "Yeah, sure, might as well. It'll give him something new for him to obsess about, at least."

When Tony's phone chimes a beat later, he sees an obviously very hastily typed out ' _ty :-)_ ' from Cap. Tony rolls his eyes and tosses his phone back to the table with a clatter. He groans. "What day is it?" Tony asks crankily, rubbing furiously as the dryness in his eyes.

"Tuesday, sir," JARVIS replies; the AI seems to hesitate, and then: "Sir, it has been nearly fifty-two hours since you last slept - perhaps a break is in order?" Another hesitation. "Perhaps a call to Ms-"

" _No_ ," Tony snaps. "We need space, JARVIS. We both- just need some space." And the press hounding their every move for the past two weeks certainly hasn't been helping his mood. Maybe sleep isn't such a bad idea, after all. "Who's upstairs?"

"Agent Barton and Dr. Banner are on their respective floors," JARVIS informs him. "Agent Romanoff left a short while ago to procure Agent Barton's new passport."

Tony grunts. "Right, their little HYDRA-smashing getaway," he mutters; his phone goes off on the table beside him and he starts heavily. Jesus, he must be tired.

"Sir, Agent Barton merely wishes to get back in the field to ensure that he-" JARVIS starts, but Tony waves him off with another growl-like sound in the back of his throat. Whatever, he knows all this shit already.

It's another text from Cap. _Mind if Sam and I come over?_

"You know, you have an entire floor here," Tony says grumpily to his phone, and types out exactly that. He adds _Sam can have one too if he wants. there's a few left in the penthouse he can pick from_.

The next text is from Sam and literally all it says is, _what the shit_.

Tony snorts and pockets his phone, then stands with a creaky stretch. "Sorry JARVIS," he mumbles. "I gotta shower and shit before polite company comes over."

"As if a shower could prepare polite company for your current demeanor," JARVIS says snippily.

"Sassy," Tony remarks (though doesn't dispute) as he makes his way to the elevator.

***

Tony is five seconds away from coffee when Bruce appears in his peripheral, tugging Tony back and away towards the table. "You are not having any more caffeine until you've had real food and sleep," Bruce tells him resolutely, plunking Tony down at the table. He hands Tony a plate with some kind of cornmeal cake on it.

"I'm not five," Tony snaps, but he's already pinching off a corner of the cake. It's light, sweet. Bruce probably made it just for him. For some reason, that just seems to make him angrier. "I don't need you to tell me what to do," he continues waspishly, barely able to keep his tone in check. Without the promise of coffee looming on the horizon, his migraine from earlier is rearing its ugly head.

"You're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Bruce says stubbornly, dipping a piece of his own cake into his cup of tea before tossing in his mouth.

"I am as healthy as a horse," Tony remarks.

"I'm pretty sure your liver disagrees," Bruce shoots back.

"I'm _fine_ ," Tony spits through gritted teeth.

"I can _smell_ the stress on you," Bruce says, and Tony can see the little furrow in his brow, the tightness in his jaw. He must be pretty worried about Tony if he's pulling his little mama bear routine.

"You can _not_ ," Tony says, but it's weak, and he sighs as he takes another bite of his cake. "What about half caff?" he asks then, though it burns him to even mention the foul thing. It might as well not even be coffee at that point.

"You can have tea," Bruce says by way of compromise, the unspoken _Tony, I am being so patient with you right now shut the fuck up and eat your goddamn cake_ looming threateningly in the air; he gets up and moves to the cabinet. "Do you want green tea or a spice blend?"

"Green," Tony grumbles; he buries his face in his hands and groans as Bruce pours the hot water, steeps the tea bag. "You're such a _nag_ ," he mutters, and Bruce makes condescending soothing noises.

"Careful, you'll make me angry," he says, and Tony shoots him a dirty look.

Two minutes later there's a steaming cup of tea in Tony's hands, and Tony's eyes feel tired, dry. All part of Bruce's plan, he's sure. The cake and two cups of tea are gone before Tony sighs, mutters miserably, "I miss Pepper."

"I know," Bruce whispers, goes to get another cup.

Tony lays his head down on the table. "Why couldn't we work out?" he says, though it's more to himself than Bruce. "We _should've_." If Tony couldn't make it work with Pepper, could he make it work with anyone?

"Do you want platitudes?" Bruce asks; Tony shakes his head. "Life sucks," he says with a shrug. He finishes brewing his tea, sits back down opposite Tony, takes a little sip. Bruce stares off into space for a minute, lost in a memory, or his own thoughts, or just something Tony's not quite yet privy to. "There's no magical, fix-all answer to this stuff. Sometimes things don't work out the way we they want them to," he whispers eventually, looking back down at Tony. "Sometimes it opens the door to something better."

"I said I didn't want platitudes," Tony murmurs, but it's not angry. He just feels sort of... empty, all of a sudden. He honestly can't tell if it's just exhaustion or his depression rearing up again.

"Not platitudes," Bruce says quietly. "Just an observation." Tony finally lifts his head to look back up at Bruce, and there's a shy, almost secretive smile on his face as he looks fondly down at Tony.

_Oh_. Tony feels something warm bubble in his stomach.

"I didn't think I'd ever be able to make friends again after the Big Guy," Bruce admits. "I didn't even know if I was capable of making meaningful emotional connections anymore." Bruce laughs, taps a little beat along the rim of his teacup. "But here I am: two years without an incident, in a home, with friends." Bruce smiles again. "It's nice, Tony - seeing the tower filled with people who like us."

"I'm still not sure Clint _actually_ likes us," Tony jokes lightly; he's still got a migraine, but the tea and warm fuzzies are helping to distract him.

"Give me a few more Hulk jokes," Bruce repartees, eyes crinkling at the corners, "I'll bring him over to our side."

"Sirs, please forgive the delay," JARVIS suddenly interrupts, "but Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers, and Airman Wilson are in the elevator on their way up."

Tony starts, blinks. "Already?" he asks. JARVIS should've alerted him when they hit the building.

"I did not wish to intrude," JARVIS says hesitantly.

Tony's lips twist in a little smile. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, J," he says.

"There is no need to apologize, sir," JARVIS replies, but there's something pleased in the resounding silence that follows JARVIS' assurances.

The elevator _dings_ to announce their arrival, and the first thing Bruce and Tony hear is Natasha ask, "Okay, what about Cassandra?"

"The attorney?" Steve asks. "Nah, I don't know."

"Okay, but Kyle from the coffee shop," Sam pipes up. "He was super into you. _Very_ dashing."

"Both of you? Seriously?" Steve says incredulously. A pause, then: "Who even says dashing anymore?"

"This is better than daytime TV," Tony whispers; he raises his voice to call, "Hey Cap - how many lips have you kissed since you made your twenty-first century debut?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Stark," Steve shoots back, and Tony presses a hand to his heart, wounded.

"So, what brings you to my humble abode?" Tony asks with a flourish, migrating his way over and flopping back onto the sectional.

"I'm just here to give Clint his passport," Natasha says, but there's a smile on her lips.

As if on cue, Clint appears at the top of the stairs. "Passport?" he asks aloud; he smiles. "Nat! Hey Cap. Sam." He goes and flops on his unofficially claimed armchair, pulling out his phone to play (Tony just knows, okay? He _knows_ ) Angry Birds.

"I wanted to, ah-" Steve smiles a bit shyly, like he's embarrassed. It's absolutely adorable. _It's a trap!_ Admiral Ackbar shouts in his mind. "I just wanted to thank you in person for all you've done to help us look for Bucky. We would've had a lot less to go on without your video clips."

Tony waves a hand. "You can thank me when you actually find the slippery bastard," he says airily. "It's surprisingly challenging to get footage of a ninety year old soldierspy."

A weird silence settles in the air then, an almost-stalemate with Bruce, Clint, and Tony on one side of the room, Nat, Sam, and Steve on the other.

Sam's the first one to get fed up with the awkward teammate routine. He rolls his eyes and asks, "You guys wanna watch a movie?"

Bruce absolutely lights up. "Yes!" he says immediately. "Yes, a movie sounds like fun."

" _Die Hard_ ," Clint blurts and Tony and Bruce immediately hiss back, " _No_." Not again.

Never again.

"Okay, but I have the remote," Clint says with a grin.

Bruce gives Clint a steady look. "I will Hulk out," he says seriously, "and smash the remote. And your face."

Clint glares for a moment. "Touché," he concedes, and slides the remote across the floor to Bruce.

Natasha looks like she isn't sure if she wants to laugh or cry (or both), Steve is biting back a grin, and Sam looks like he's slowly starting to realize that the big green monster in the room is actually just a big green jackass.

"I'm picking the movie," Bruce says then, like it hasn't already been decided, and takes a seat on the sofa beside Tony. Natasha shoves her way onto the armchair with Clint, curling up in his lap, and Tony graciously scoots over to let Sam and Steve sit beside him.

Bruce puts on _The Addams Family_. It's kind of perfect, to be honest. Especially when Tony gets to see the look on Steve's face when everyone but him starts snapping along to the song.

"This is a thing I need to put on the list, isn't it," Steve says, deadpan.

"He still hasn't seen _Star Wars_ ," Sam whispers conspiratorially around Steve's shoulder; there's a collective gasp of outrage around the room. " _Or Star Trek_."

Steve shoves Sam in the shoulder. "Shut up, I'm trying to watch the movie," he hisses, but there's still a grin twitching at his lips.

"That is so sad," Clint sadly says. "Not even _DS9_?"

"You would love DS9, Cap," Tony adds, grinning.

"I'll put it on the list," Steve says with an exasperated eye roll; before anyone can say anything else, Steve throws his arms out and says, " _Movie_."

Everyone shuts up after that, for good reason. _The Addams Family_ is awesome - it's hilarious, it's nostalgic, and its near-perfect blend of oddity and dysfunction could describe their clunky little superhero group to a T. Bruce probably planned it that way, the sneaky bastard.

Tony falls asleep about ten minutes in, head pillowed on Bruce's soft shoulder. Bruce probably planned that, too. But it's warm, and familiar, and when Tony wakes up during the credits, he feels more rested than he has in two very long, very tiring weeks.

Tony looks around the dark room, slow and bleary-eyed (JARVIS must have dimmed the windows sometime during the movie). Natasha is dozing lightly in Clint's arms, who's got his feet propped on the loveseat to give her more sprawling room. Bruce is awake, but his gaze is soft, like he gets when he's meditating. Sam and Steve are the only two who look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (it's disgusting, to be honest - movies in the dark are meant for sleepy time).

Steve, noticing his scrutiny, quirks one eyebrow. "Did you have a good nap, Mr. Stark?" he asks, a hint of a tease in his voice.

_Sometimes it opens the door to something better, huh?_

Tony thinks he can live with that.


End file.
